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PERCY'S     RELIQUES. 


RELIQUES   OF 


ntient  ^itjjli^g  ^ibetr:a, 


CONSISTING   OF 

OLD    HEROIC   BALLADS,   SONGS,  AND   OTHER 
PIECES   OF   OUR   EARLIER   POETS, 

TOGETHER  WITH   SOME  FEW 
OF   LATER   DATE, 

■  B  Y   T  H  O  M  A  S    P  E  R  C  V,   D.  D. 

BISHOP  OF  DROMORE, 

EDITED,    WITH    A    GENERAL    INTRODUCTION,    ADDITIONAL 

PREFACES,    NOTES,    GLOSSARY,    ETC.,    BY 

HENRY   B.   WHEATLEY,   F.S.A 

IN   THREE  VOLUMES. 

VOL.   II. 


LONDON: 
SWAN  SONNENSCHEIN  &  CO. 

PATERNOSTER  SQUARE. 
189T. 


TKE  INSTITUTE 
10  EL 


VAL  STUDIES 


A. 


Fl 


^  1  37 


CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  THE  SECOND. 


BOOK   THE  FIRST. 


ICHARD  of  Almaigne      . 

2.  On  the  Death  of  K.  Edward  the  First 

3.  An  original  Ballad  by  Chaucei     . 

4.  The  Turnament  of  Tottenham     . 

5.  For  the  Victory  at  Agincourt 

6.  The  Not-Browne  Mayd 

7.  A  balet,  by  the  Earl  Rivers  . 

8.  Cupid's  Assault :  by  Lord  Vaux 

9.  Sir  Aldingar 

Copy  from  the  Folio  MS. 

10.  The  Gaberlunyie  man.    A  Scottish  Song 

11.  On  Thomas  Lord  Cromwell  .... 

12.  Harpalus.     An  Ancient  English  Pastoral 

13.  Robin  and  Makyne.     An  Ancient  Scottish  Pastoral 

14.  Gentle  Herdsman,  tell  to  me         .... 

15.  K.  Edward  IV.  and  the  Tanner  of  Tamworth 

16.  As  ye  came  from  the  Holy  Land  .... 

Copy  from  the  Folio  MS.      .... 

17.  Hardyknute.     A  Scottish  Fragment 


Page 

3 
10 

14 

17 
29 

31 
48 

50 
54 
61 
67 

71 
75 
79 
86 

92 

lOI 

104 

T05 


BOOK  THE  SECOND. 

1.  A  Ballad  of  Luther,  the  Pope,  a  Cardinal,  and  a  Hus 

bandman         ....... 

2.  John  Anderson  my  Jo.     A  Scottish  Song 

3.  Little  John  Nobody     ...... 

4.  Q.  Elizabeth's  Verses,  v/hile  Prisoner  at  Woodstock 

5.  The  Heir  of  Linne 

Copy  from  the  Folio  MS 


125 
131 
^33 
137 
138 
147 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


6.  Gascoigne*s  Praise  of  the  fair  Bridges,  afterwards  Lady 

Sandes    ...... 

7.  Fair  Rosamond.     By  Thomas  Delone  . 

8.  Queen  Eleanor's  Confession. 

9.  The  Sturdy  Rock  .... 

10.  The  Beggar's  Daughter  of  Bednall-Green 

Extract  from  the  Folio  MS. 
An  Essay  on  the  Word  Fit,  and  the  ancient  Ballad 
singing 

1 1 .  Fancy  and  Desire.     By  the  Earl  of  Oxford  . 

12.  Sir  Andrew  Barton 

Copy  from  the  folio  MS.       .... 

13.  Lady  Anne  Both  well's  Lament.     A  Scottish  Song 

14.  The  Murder  of  the  King  of  Scots. 

15.  A  Sonnet  by  Q.  Elizabeth    ..... 

16.  King  of  Scots  and  Andrew  Browne.     By  W.  Elderton 

17.  The  Bonny  Earl  of  Murray.     A  Scottish  Song 

18.  Young  Waters.     A  Scottish  Song 

19.  Mary  Ambree      ..... 

Copy  from  the  Folio  MS. 

20.  Brave  Lord  Willoughbey 

2 1 .  Victorious  Men  of  Earth.     By  James  Shirley 

22.  The  Winning  of  Cales . 

23.  The  Spanish  Lady's  Love     . 

24.  Argentile  and  Curan.     By  W.  Warner  . 

25.  Corin's  Fate         ... 

26.  Jane  Shore  ...... 

27.  Cory  don's  doleful  Knell 


Page 

150 
154 
164 
169 
171 
i8i 

182 

185 
188 
20T 
209 
213 
218 
221 
226 
228 
231 

235 
238 

242 

243 

247 

252 
262 
263 
274 


BOOK  THE  THIRD. 

1 .  The  Complaint  of  Conscience 

2.  Plain  Truth  and  Blind  Ignorance 

3.  The  Wandering  Jew     .... 

4.  The  Lye.     By  Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 

5.  Verses  (viz.  two  Sonnets)  by  K.  James  I. 

6.  K.  John  and  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury  . 

Copy  from  the  Folio  MS.     . 

7.  You  Meaner  Beauties.     By  Sir  Henry  Wotton 

8.  The  Old  and  Young  Courtier 

9.  Sir  John  Suckling's  Campaigne 
10.  To  Althea  from  Prison.     By  Col.  Lovelace 
yi.  The  Downfall  of  Charing- Cross    . 
]  2.  Loyalty  Confined  .... 


279 

285 
291 
297 
300 

308 
312 

314 
318 
321 

323 
326 


CONTENTS.  vii 

Page 

13.  Verses,  by  King  Charles  I -329 

14.  The  Sale  of  Rebellious  Houshold  Stuff         .         .         .     332 

15.  The  Baffled  Knight,  or  Lady's  Policy   .         .         .         *     336 

16.  Why  so  Pale?     By  Sir  John  Suckling  ....     343 

17.  Old  Tom  of  Bedlam.     Mad  Song  the  First    .         .         .     344 

18.  The  Distracted  Puritan.     Mad  Song  the  Second   .         .     347 

19.  The  Lunatic  Lover.     Mad  Song  the  Third   .         .         *     351 

20.  The  Lady  Distracted  with  Love.   Mad  Song  the  Foiiith     354 

21.  The  Distracted  Lover.     Mad  Song  the  Fifth  •         .355 

22.  The  Frantic  Lady.     Mad  Song  the  Sixth      .         .         '357 

23.  .Lilli-burlero.     By  the  Marquis  of  Wharton    .         .         .     358 

24.  The  Braes   of  Yarrow.      In  imitation  of  the    ancient 

Scots  manner.     By  Wm.  Hamilton  .         .         .         .362 

25.  Admiral  Hosier's  Ghost.     By  Richard  Glover        .         .     367 

26.  Jemmy  Dawson.     By  William  Shenstone       .         .         •     37i 


APPENDIX. 

On  the  Alliterative  Metre,  without  Rhyme,  in  Pierce  Plow- 
man's Visions  .         .  377 


INDEX. 

Of  Ballads  and  Poems  in  the  Second  Volume     ,        •        .     395 


RELIQUES   OF  ANCIENT  POETRY,  ETC 


SERIES   THE   SECOND. 


BOOK   I. 


r 


2       , 


B 


*'  Though  some  make  slight  of  Libels,  yet  you  may  see 
by  them  how  the  wind  sits  :  As,  take  a  straw  and  throw 
it  up  into  the  air,  you  may  see  by  that  which  way  the 
wind  is,  which  you  shall  not  do  by  casting  up  a  stone. 
More  solid  things  do  not  shew  the  complexion  of  the 
times  so  well  as  Ballads  and  Libels." — Selden's  Tahle-Talk. 


I. 


RICHARD   OF   ALMAIGNE, 


BALLAD  made  by  one  of  the  adherents  to 
Simon  de  Montfort,  Earl  of  Leicester,  soon  after 
the  battle  of  Lewes,  which  was  fought  May  14, 
1264," 

—  affords  a  curious  specimen  of  ancient  satire, 
and  shews  that  the  liberty,  assumed  by  the  good 
people  of  this  realm,  of  abusing  their  kings  and 
princes  at  pleasure,  is  a  privilege  of  very  long  standing. 

To  render  this  antique  libel  intelligible,  the  reader  is  to  under- 
stand that  just  before  the  battle  of  Lewes,  which  proved  so  fatal  to 
the  interests  of  Henry  III.,  the  barons  had  offered  his  brother 
Richard,  King  of  the  Romans,  30,000/.  to  procure  a  peace  upon 
such  terms,  as  would  have  divested  Henry  of  all  his  regal  power, 
and  therefore  the  treaty  proved  abortive.  The  consequences  of 
that  battle  are  well-known :  the  king,  prince  Edward  his  son,  his 
brother  Richard,  and  many  of  his  friends,  fell  into  the  hands  of 
their  enemies :  while  two  great  barons  of  the  king^s  party,  J  ohn, 
Earl  of  Warren,  and  Hugh  Bigot,  the  king's  justiciary,  had  been 
glad  to  escape  into  France. 

In  the  first  stanza  the  aforesaid  sum  of  thirty  thousand  pounds 
is  alluded  to,  but  with  the  usual  misrepresentation  of  party  ma- 
levolence, is  asserted  to  have  been  the  exorbitant  demand  of  the 
king's  brother. 

With  regard  to  the  second  stanza  the  reader  is  to  note  that 
Richard,  along  with  the  earldom  of  Cornwall,  had  the  honours  of 
Walingford  and  Eyre  confirmed  to  him  on  his  marriage  with 
Sanchia,  daughter  of  the  Count  of  Provence,  in  1243.  Windsor 
Castle  was  the  chief  fortress  belonging  to  the  king,  and  had  been 


4        RICHARD    OF  ALMAIGNE. 

garrisoned  by  foreigners  :  a  circumstance  which  furnishes  out  the 
burthen  of  each  stanza. 

The  third  stanza  alludes  to  a  remarkable  circumstance  which 
happened  on  the  day  of  the  battle  of  Lewes.  After  the  battle  was 
lost,  Richard,  king  of  the  Romans,  took  refuge  in  a  windmill, 
which  he  barricaded,  and  maintained  for  some  time  against  the 
barons,  but  in  the  evening  was  obliged  to  surrender.  See  a  very 
full  account  of  this  in  the  Chronicle  of  Mailros,  Oxon.  1684,  p. 
229.* 

The  fourth  stanza  is  of  obvious  interpretation :  Richard,  who 
had  been  elected  king  of  the  Romans  in  1256,  and  had  afterwards 
gone  over  to  take  possession  of  his  dignity,  was  in  the  year  1259 
about  to  return  into  England,  when  the  barons  raised  a  popular 
clamour,  that  he  was  bringing  with  him  foreigners  to  over-run  the 
kingdom  :  upon  which  he  was  forced  to  dismiss  almost  all  his  fol- 
lowers, otherwise  the  barons  would  have  opposed  his  landing. 

In  the  fifth  stanza  the  writer  regrets  the  escape  of  the  Earl  of 
Warren,  and  in  the  sixth  and  seventh  stanzas  insinuates  that  if  he 
and  Sir  Hugh  Bigot  once  fell  into  the  hands  of  their  adversaries, 
they  should  never  more  return  home  ;  a  circumstance  which  fixes 
the  date  of  this  ballad,  for,  in  the  year  1265,  both  these  noblemen 
landed  in  South  Wales,  and  the  royal  party  soon  after  gained  the 
ascendant.     See  Holinshed,  Rapin,  &c. 

The  following  is  copied  from  a  very  ancient  MS.  in  the  British 
Museum.  (Harl.  MSS.  2253,  fol.  58  v°.)  This  MS.  is  judged, 
from  the  peculiarities  of  the  writing,  to  be  not  later  than  the  time 
of  Richard  II. ;  ih  being  everywhere  expressed  by  the  character  J?; 
the  7  is  pointed  after  the  Saxon  manner,  and  the  i  hath  an  oblique 
stroke  over  it. 

[The  date  of  the  MS.  in  which  this  ballad  occurs  is  usually 
l)laced  at  an  earlier  period  than  that  fixed  upon  by  Percy.  Mr. 
Vhomas  Wright,  who  prints  it  in  his  volume  of  Political  Songs  of 
England  (Camden  Society),  with  several  other  poems  in  French, 
Anglo-Norman,  and  Latin,  on  Simon  de  Montfort  and  the  Barons' 
<Vars,  assigns  it  to  the  reign  of  Edward  II.  It  will  be  seen  from 
Percy's  note  to  verse  44,  that  the  last  stanza  was  printed  for  the 
first  time  in  the  fourth  edition  of  the  Reliques.  This  is  explained 
by  the  fact  that  these  lines  are  written  on  a  new  foho  of  the  MS., 
and  must  therefore  have  l)een  overlooked  by  the  original  copyist. 

This  little  poem  is  without  rival  as  an  early  exhibition  of  Eng- 
lish popular  feeling  in  the  vernacular  ;  and  it  also  stands  alone  as 
the  first  dated  English  historical  ballad  in  existence.  It  was  probably 

[*  Rol)crt  of  Gloucester  wrote  : 

*'  The  king  of  Alemaigne  was  in  a  windmulle  income."] 


RICHARD    OF  ALMAIGNE.         5 

written  during  the  first  flush  of  enthusiasm  after  the  memorable 
battle  of  Lewes,  because,  before  a  year  had  gone  by,  victory  had 
passed  to  the  other  side,  and  at  the  battle  of  Evesham,  fought  on 
the  4th  of  August,  1265,  Simon,  his  eldest  son  Henry,  and  a  host 
of  distinguished  men,  fell  on  the  fatal  field.     As  Drayton  sang  : 

"  Great  Lester  here  expired  with  Henry  his  brave  sonne, 
When  many  a  high  exploit  they  in  that  day  had  done." 

Prince  Edward,  who  had  passed  his  boyhood  in  Henry's  com- 
pany and  was  much  attached  to  him,  personally  attended  his 
funeral. 

Richard,  Earl  of  Cornwall,  brother  of  Henry  III.,  was  elected 
King  of  the  Romans  on  the  13th  of  January,  1256-7,  at  Frankfort, 
and  is  styled  in  Latin  documents  Rex  Alcmamiice.  In  earlier  times 
Richard  had  been  a  leader  of  malecontents,  and  "  all  from  the 
child  to  the  old  man  heaped  frequent  blessings  upon  him,"  but 
Montfort  (then  a  courtier)  gained  him  over  to  the  King's  side,  and 
the  insurgents  were  in  consequence  dispersed. 

Richard  was  probably  not  so  base  a  man  as  the  writer  of  the 
ballad  would  wish  us  to  believe,  and  a  good  action  is  recorded  of 
him  which  was  very  ill  returned.  He  interceded  for  the  life  of  De 
Montfort's  second  son  Simon,  when  that  youth  surrendered  to  the 
royal  party  at  Northampton  in  1266,  and  he  was  successful  in  his 
suit.  In  1 27 1,  Simon  and  his  brother  Guy  assassinated  Llenry, 
Richard's  son,  then  in  the  suite  of  Philip  of  France,  on  his  return 
from  the  Holy  Land,  while  he  was  at  mass  in  the  church  of  St. 
LaAvrence,  at  Viterbo.  Richard  himself  died  in  this  same  year  at 
Berkhampstead,  and  his  estates  descended  to  his  son  Edmond, 
Earl  of  Cornwall. 

The  uncertain  manner  in  which  biographic  honours  are  ap- 
portioned is  noteworthy,  and  a  writer  in  the  Quarterly  Review  (vol. 
cxix.  p.  26)  very  justly  points  out  a  deficiency  in  English  litera- 
ture, when  he  writes  that  Simon  de  Montfort  V.,  second  Earl  of 
Leicester,  "  the  founder  of  the  English  House  of  Commons,  has 
had  no  biographer."^  Mr.  Freeman,  however,  promises  to  do  full 
honour  to  his  memory  in  a  forthcoming  volume  of  his  history. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  give  any  detailed  account  of  De  Mont- 
fort, but  a  few  words  on  the  great  leader  may  be  allowable,  miore 
particularly  as  Percy's  introduction  does  injustice  to  the  anti- 
royalist  party. 

Simon  de  Montfort,  fourth  son  of  Simon  de  Montfort  IV.,  fourth 

\}  A  German  has  taken  upon  himself  the  duty  of  an  English- 
man, but  Dr.  Pauli's  life  of  the  hero  has  not  yet  been  translated 
'^ut  of  the  German  language.] 


6         RICHARD    OF   ALMAIGNE. 

Comte  de  Montfort/  married  Eleanor,  Countess  of  Pembroke, 
the  daughter  of  King  John.  She  had  made  a  vow  of  widowhood, 
and  although  her  brother  Henry  HI.  gave  her  away  when  she  wan 
married,  by  one  of  the  royal  chaplains,  in  the  king's  private 
chapel  at  Westminster,  6th  January,  1238,  Edmund,  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,  remonstrated  strongly  against  the  marriage.  It  is 
said  that  when  the  prelate  left  England,  he  stood  on  a  hill  which 
commanded  a  view  of  London,  and,  extending  his  hands  towards 
the  city,  pronounced  a  parting  blessing  on  his  country,  and  a  curse 
on  the  countess  and  the  offspring  of  her  unholy  union. 

Events  so  came  about  that  the  courtier  and  alien  became  the 
representative  leader  of  Englishmen,  with  the  famous  war-cry  of 
"  England  for  the  English/'  The  battle  of  Lewes  placed  every- 
thing in  the  power  of  Simon  de  Montfort,  but  in  his  prosperity 
many  of  his  followers  fell  away  from  him.  The  last  scene  of  the 
great  man's  life  is  truly  pathetic.  He  lay  at  Evesham  awaiting  the 
troops  vv^hich  his  son  was  to  bring  from  Kenilworth.  He  did  not 
knoAv,  however,  that  the  garrison  of  that  town  had  been  surprised 
by  Prince  Edward,  who  had  escaped  from  confinement.  The  army 
that  marclied  upon  Evesham  bore  the  banners  of  Simon's  son, 
but  they  were  flying  in  the  van  of  an  enemy.  Simon's  first  words, 
when  he  saw  the  force  approach,  were  those  of  soldierly  pride : 
'^  By  the  arm  of  St.  James  they  come  on  well ;  they  learnt  that 
order  from  me."  Before  he  spoke  again,  however,  he  had  realized 
his  position,  and  he  cried  out:  *' May  God  have  mercy  on  our 
souls,  for  our  bodies  are  Prince  Edward's."  When  he  died  liberty 
seemed  to  have  been  crushed  out  of  existence,  but  it  was  not  so, 
for  his  spirit  lived  though  his  body  died,  and  the  real  victory  was 
with  him. 

The  fate  of  Simon  de  Montfort  was  a  subject  of  general  lamenta- 
tion, but  none  of  the  songs  upon  it  that  have  come  down  to  us 
are  in  Enghsh.  In  an  Anglo-Norman  lament  he  is  likened  to 
Thomas  of  Canterbury,  and  described  as  "a  precious  flower." 
Priest  and  layman  united  in  his  praise,  and  he  was  revered  as  a 
saint  and  martyr.  Prayers  were  said  in  his  honour,  and  a  hymn 
was  sung  at  his  shrine,  beginning  : 

"  Salve  Symon  Montis-Fortis 

Totius  flos  militise 
Duras  pcenas  passus  mortis, 

Protector  gentis  Anglics?^ 

Miracles  were  supposed  to  be  worked  by  the  power  of  his  name,* 

\}  Montfort  is  a  small  town  between  Paris  and  Chartres. 

2  Sec  Miracula  Simonis  de  MoTitfort,  MS.  Cotton.  Vespas.  A. 


RICHARD    OF   ALMAIGNE.  7 

and  the  character  of  these  miracles  may  be  judged  by  the 
following  samples.  The  "  old  Countess  of  Gloucester  ^'  had  a 
palfrey,  which  was  asthmatic  for  two  years,  until  one  day  in  journey- 
ing from  Tewkesbury  to  Evesham,  it  drank  from  the  earl's  well 
and  was  restored  to  perfect  health.  The  next  instance  of  miracu- 
lous healing  is  still  more  remarkable.  A  chick,  which  belonged 
to  Agnes  of  Selgrave,  fell  into  a  pond  and  was  drowned.  Its  mis- 
tress pulled  it  out  and  commended  it  to  ''  blessed  Simon,"  where- 
upon it  got  up  and  walked  as  usual. 

Simon  had  six  children  by  his  wife  Eleanor,  viz.,  Henry,  Simon, 
Guy,  Amauri,  Richard,  and  Eleanor.  Henry  was  slain  with  his 
father,  but  the  countess  and  the  other  children  escaped  out  of 
England.  Simon  and  Guy  went  to  Tuscany;  Amauri  accompanied 
his  mother  to  France,  was  taken  prisoner  in  1276,  and  kept  in 
confinement  by  Edward  for  a  time,  but  set  at  liberty  in  1280; 
Richard  went  to  Bigorre,  but  nothing  certain  is  known  of  his  after 
career,  and  it  is  said  that  he  settled  in  England  under  the  assumed 
name  of  Wellysborne,  an  assertion  founded  on  two  or  three  deeds 
of  doubtful  authenticity.^  Eleanor  was  married  to  Llewellyn, 
Prince  of  Wales,  in  1279,  Edward  I.  paying  all  the  expenses  of  the 
ceremony,  which  was  performed  with  great  pomp.] 


ITTETH  alle  stille,  ant  herkneth  to  me; 
The  kyn[g]  of  Alemaigne,^  bi  mi  leaute,* 
Thritti  thousent  pound  askede  he 
For  te  make  the  pees"*  in  the  countre, 

Ant  so  he  dude  more. 
Richard,  thah^  thou  be  ever  trichard,^ 
Tricthen^  shalt  thou  never  more. 


vi.,  annexed  to  Mr.  Halliwell's  edition  of  William  de  Rishanger's 
Chronicle  of  the  Barons'  Wars  (Camden  Society),  1840. 

^  This  tradition  is  possibly  connected  with  the  one  to  be  found 
in  the  Beggar'' s  Daughter  of  Bethnal  Green,  where  the  Blind  Beggar 
is  said  to  be  Henry  de  Montfort,  who  was  taken  off  the  battle- 
field, blind  but  not  dead. 

2  Germany.  ^  loyalty.  *  peace.  ^  though. 

^  treacherous.  ^  deceive  (should  be  t7'zchen).'] 


8         RICHARD    OF   ALMAIGNE. 

Richard  of  Alemalgne,  whil  that  he  wes  kyng, 
He  spende  al  is  tresour  opon  swyvyng,^ 
Haveth  he  nout  of  WaHngford  o  ferlyng,^  lo 

Let  him  habbe/^  ase  he  brew,  bale  to  dryng,* 
Maugre^  Wyndesore. 
Richard,  thah  thou  be  ever,  &c. 

The  kyng  of  Alemalgne  wende  do*^  ful  wel, 
He  saisede  the  mulne^  for  a  castel,  15 

With  hare^  sharpe  swerdes  he  grounde  the  stel,^ 
He  wende  that  the  sayles  were  mangoneP^ 
To  helpe  Wyndesore. 
Richard,  thah  thou  be  ever,  &c. 

The  kyng  of  Alemalgne  gederede  ys  host,  *o 

Makede  him  a  castel  of  a  mulne  post, 
Wende  with  is  prude,^^  ant  is  muchele  bost/* 
Brohte^^  from  Alemayne  mony  sori  gost 
To  store  Wyndesore. 
Richard,  thah  thou  be  ever,  &c.  %$ 

By  God,  that  is  aboven  ous,  he  dude  muche  synne, 
That  lette  passen  over  see  the  erl  of  Warynne  : 
He  hath  robbed  Engelond,  the  mores,^*  ant  th[e]  fenne, 
The  gold,  ant  the  selver,  and  y-boren  henne,^^ 

For  love  of  Wyndesore.  30 

Richard,  thah  thou  be  ever,  &c. 


\}  lecheiy. 

2  He  has  not  of  Wallingford  one  furlong.  The  MS.  reads 
oferlyng^  and  Percy  and  Warton  explain  that  word  to  mean  superior, 
in  opposition  to  underling,  but  it  has  not  been  met  with  elsewhere. 
Mr.  Wright's  reading  of  "  one  furlong  "  is  much  more  in  accordance 
with  the  context. 

^  have.         ^  evil  to  drink,        ^  in  spite  of.        ^  thought  to  do. 

^  he  seized  the  mill.  ^  their.  ^  steel. 

^^  a  military  engine  for  throwing  great  stones.         ^^  pride. 

^^  great  boast.  '^  brought.  *"*  moors. 

^^  bore  them  away  hence.] 


RICHARD    OF  ALMAIGNE.         9 

Sire  Simond  de  Mountfort  hath  suore  bi  ys  chyn, 
Hevede^  he  nou  here  the  erl  of  Wary n, 
Shulde  he  never  more  come  to  is  yn,^ 
Ne  with  sheld,  ne  with  spere,  ne  with  other  gyn,^    35 
To  help  of  Wyndesore. 
Richard,  thah  thou  be  ever,  &c. 

Sire  Simond  de  Montfort  hath  suore  bi  ys  cop/ 
Hevede  he  nou  here  Sire  Hue  de  Bigot  :^ 
AP  he  shulde  quite  here  twelfmoneth  scot^  40 

Shulde  he  never  more  with  his  fot  pot^ 
To  helpe  Wyndesore. 
Richard,  thah  thou  be  ever,  &c. 

Be  the  luef,  be  the  loht,^  sire  Edward, 
Thou  shalt  ride  sporeles  o  thy  lyard^^  4s 

Al  the  ryhte  way  to  Dovere-ward, 
Shalt  thou  never  more  breke  foreward ; 
Ant  that  reweth  sore 
Edward,  thou  dudest  as  a  shreward/^ 

Forsoke  thyn  emes  lore^^  50 

Richard,  &c. 

*^*  This  ballad  will  rise  in  its  importance  with  the  reader, 
when  he  finds  that  it  is  even  beheved  to  have  occasioned  a  law 
in  our  statute  book,  viz.  **  Against  slanderous  reports  or  tales,  to 
cause  discord  betwixt  king  and  people."  (  Westin.  Primer,  c.  34, 
anno  3  Edw.  I.)      That  it  had  this  effect  is  the  opinion  of  an 

Ver.  44.  This  stanza  was  omitted  in  the  former  editions. 

[Ver.  40.  Percy  prints  g7'ante  here  {i.e.  grant  their),  but  the  MS. 
reads  qte  here  {i.e.  quite  or  pay  here). 

^  had.  ^  house.  ^  engine.  •*  sworn  by  his  head. 

*  The  Hugh  Bigod  here  mentioned,  was  the  cousin  of  Hugh 
Bigod,  who  took  part  with  the  barons,  and  w^as  slain  at  Lewes. 

^  although.  '^  tax  or  revenue. 

^  with  his  foot  push  on.  Percy  prints  this  sot  pot,  but  it  is  un- 
doubtedly/^/ in  the  MS.  ^  whether  you  like  it  or  loathe  it. 

^•^  ride  spurless  on  thy  grey  horse.  ^^  male  shrew. 

^2  forsookest  thy  uncle's  teaching.  De  Montfort  was  Prince 
Edward's  uncle.] 


lo  ON    THE    DEATH    OF 

eminent   writer  [the    Hon.  Daines  Barrington],    see  Obset-vations 
upon  the  Statutes,  &c.  4to.  2nd  edit.  1766,  p.  71. 

However,  in  the  Hari.  Collection  may  be  found  other  satirical 
and  defamatory  rhymes  of  the  same  age,  that  might  have  their 
share  in  contributing  to  this  first  law  against  libels. 


II. 

ON    THE    DEATH    OF    K.    EDWARD 
THE    FIRST. 

;E  have  here  an  early  attempt  at  elegy.  Edward  I. 
died  July  7,  1307,  in  the  35th  year  of  his  reign,  and 
69th  of  his  age.  This  poem  appears  to  have  been 
composed  soon  after  his  death.  According  to  the 
modes  of  thinking  peculiar  to  those  times,  the  writer  dwells  more 
upon  his  devotion  than  his  skill  in  government,  and  pays  less 
attention  to  the  martial  and  political  abilities  of  this  great  monarch, 
in  which  he  had  no  equal,  than  to  some  little  weaknesses  of  super- 
stition, which  he  had  in  common  with  all  his  contemporaries.  The 
king  had  in  the  decline  of  life  vowed  an  expedition  to  the  Holy 
Land,  but  finding  his  end  approach,  he  dedicated  the  sum  of 
;2f32,ooo  to  the  maintenance  of  a  large  body  of  knights  (140  say 
historians,  eighty  says  our  poet),  who  were  to  carry  his  heart  with 
them  into  Palestine.  This  dying  command  of  the  king  was  never 
performed.  Our  poet,  with  the  honest  prejudices  of  an  English- 
man, attributes  this  failure  to  the  advice  of  the  king  of  France, 
whose  daughter  Isabel,  the  young  monarch,  who  succeeded,  im- 
mediately married.  But  the  truth  is,  Edward  and  his  destructive 
favourite.  Piers  Gaveston,  spent  the  money  upon  their  pleasures. 
To  do  the  greater  honour  to  the  memory  of  his  heroe,  our  poet 
puts  his  eloge  in  the  mouth  of  the  Pope,  with  the  same  poetic 
licence  as  a  more  modern  bard  would  have  introduced  Britannia 
or  the  Genius  of  Europe  pouring  forth  his  praises. 

This  antique  elegy  is  extracted  from  the  same  MS.  volume  as 
he  preceding  article ;  is  found  with  the  same  peculiarities  of 
w  "ting  and  orthography ;  and  tho'  written  at  near  the  distance  of 
half  a  century  contains  little  or  no  variation  of  idiom  ;  whereas  the 
next  following  poem  by  Chaucer,  which  was  probably  written  not 
more  tlian  fifty  or  sixty  years  after  this,  exhibits  almost  a  new 


K.   EDWARD    THE    FIRST         ii 

language.  This  seems  to  countenance  the  opinion  of  some  anti- 
quaries, that  this  great  poet  made  considerable  innovations  in  his 
mother  tongue,  and  introduced  many  terms,  and  new  modes  of 
speech  from  other  languages. 

[When  Henry  III.  died,  highly  laudatory  songs  were  sung  in 
honour  of  the  new  king,  but  when  Edward  I.  died  the  people 
were  too  grieved  at  their  loss  to  sing  the  praise  of  his  successor. 
The  present  song  is  printed  by  Mr.  Thomas  Wright  in  his  Political 
Songs  of  £ngla?id  (CdirndQii  Society,  1839,  p.  246),  where  he  also 
prints  a  French  version,  and  points  out  that  the  one  is  clearly 
translated  from  the  other,  adding  that  the  French  song  was  pro- 
bably the  original.  In  verse  27,  Percy  printed  hue  {i.e.  she)  with 
a  capital  H,  under  the  impression  that  it  was  "  the  name  of  the 
person  who  was  to  preside  over  the  business."] 


LLE,  that  beoth  of  huerte  trewe,^ 
A  stounde  herkneth^  to  my  song 
Of  duel,^  that  Deth  hath  diht*  us  newe, 
That  maketh  me  syke,  ant  sorewe  among ; 
Of  a  knyht,  that  wes  so  strong,  s 

Of  wham  God  hath  don  ys  wille  ; 
Me-thuncheth^  that  deth  hath  don  us  wrong, 
That  he  so  sone  shall  ligge  stille.^ 

AI  Englond  ahte^  for  te  knowe 

Of  wham  that  song  is,  that  y  synge  ;  10 

Of  Edward  kyng,  that  lith^  so  lowe, 

Yent^  al  this  world  is  nome  con  springe  '}^ 
Trewest  mon  of  alle  thinge, 

Ant  in  werre  war  ant  wys,^^ 
For  him  we  ahte  oure  honden  wrynge/*^  15 

Of  Christendome  he  ber  the  prys. 


[^  are  of  true  heart.         ^  for  a  while  hearken  ye.         ^  grief. 
*  wrought.  ^  methinketh.  ^  lie  still.  ^  ought. 

^  lieth.  ^  through.  ^^  his  name  spread  abroad. 

^*  in  war  wary  and  wise.  ^^  hands  wring.] 


12  ON    THE   DEATH    OF 

Byfore  that  oure  kyng  was  ded, 

He  spek  ase^  mon  that  wes  in  care, 
"  Clerkes,  knyhtes,  barons,  he  sayde, 

*'  Y  charge  ou  by  oure  sware^  so 

"  That  ye  to  Engelonde  be  trewe. 

"  Y  deye,  y  ne  may  ly  ven  na  more  ;' 
**  Helpeth  mi  sone,  ant  crouneth  him  newe, 

"  For  he  is  nest  to  buen  y-core.* 

"  Ich  biqueth  myn  herte  aryht,^  25 

"  That  hit  be  write  at  mi  devys,^ 
"  Over  the  see  that  hue  be  diht/ 

''With  fourscore  knyhtes  al  of  prys, 
"  In  werre  that  buen  war  ant  wys, 

"  Ayein  the  hethene  for  te  fyhte,  30 

"  To  Wynne  the  croiz^  that  lowe  lys, 

"  Myself  y  cholde  yef^  that  y  myhte." 

Kyng  of  Fraunce,  thou  hevedest^°  '  sinne/ 

That  thou  the  com  sail  woldest  fonde/^ 
To  latte^^  the  wille  of  '  Edward  kyng'  35 

To  wende  to  the  holy  londe : 
That  oure  kyng  hede  take  on  honde 

All  Engelond  to  yeme  ant  wysse/^ 
To  wenden  in  to  the  holy  londe 

To  wynnen  us  heve[n~|riche^^  blisse.  40 

The  messager  to  the  pope  com, 

And  seyde  that  our  kynge  was  ded  : 

Ys  oune  hond  the  lettre  he  nom,^^ 
Ywis^^  his  herte  was  full  gret  :^^ 


Ver.  33.  sunne,  MS.     Ver.  35.  kyng  Edward,  MS.     Ver.  43.  ys 
is  probably  a  contraction  of  in  hys  or  yn  his. 

P  as.  ^  I  charge  you  by  your  oath.         ^  I  die,  I  may  not 

live  more.        "*  next  to  be  chosen.         ^  rightly.  ^  devise. 

^  she  be  sent  (see  Glossary).  ^  cross.  °  I  would  if. 

^°  hadst.  *'  try.  ^^  hinder.  ^"^  govern  and  teach. 

^'*  heavenly.      ^^  tooli.  ^^  verily.  ^'  grieved.] 


K,    EDWARD    THE    FIRST.         13 

The  Pope  him  self  the  lettre  redde,  45 

Ant  spec^  a  word  of  gret  honour. 

"  Alas  !  he  seld,  is  Edward  ded  ? 

*'  Of  Christendome  he  ber  the  flour." 

The  Pope  to  is  chaumbre  wende, 

For  doP  ne  mihte  he  speke  na  more ;  50 

Ant  after  cardinals  he  sende, 

That  muche  couthen"*  of  Cristes  lore, 
Bothe  the  lasse,'*  ant  eke  the  more, 

Bed  hem  bothe  rede  ant  synge  : 
Gret  deol  me  myhte  se  thore,*^  5$ 

Mony  mon  is  honde  wrynge. 

The  Pope  of  Peyters^  stod  at  is  masse 

With  ful  gret  solempnete, 
Ther  me  con^  the  soule  blesse  : 

"  Kyng  Edward  honoured  thou  be  :  6a 

"  God  lene^  thi  sone  come  after  the, 

"  Bringe  to  ende  that  thou  hast  bygonne, 
"  The  holy  crois  y-mad  of  tre,^ 

"  So  fain  thou  woldest  hit  hav  y-wonne. 

"Jerusalem,  thou  hast  i-lore^^  65 

"  The  flour  of  al  chivalrie 
"  Now  kyng  Edward  liveth  na  more : 

^'  Alas  !  that  he  yet  shulde  deye  ! 
"He  wolde  ha  rered  up  ful  heyye^^ 

*'  Oure  banners,  that  bueth  broht^^to  grounde  ; 
"Wei  longe  we  mowe  clepe^^  and  crie  71 

"■  Er  we  a  such  kyng  han  y-founde." 

Ver.  55,  59.  Me^  i.e.  Men,  so  in  Robert  of  Gloucester, /^j-j-Zw. 

\}  spake.  2  grief.  ^  knew.  '*  less. 

^  great  grief  might  be  seen  there.  ^  Peter's. 

'  there  they  began.  ^  give.  ^  cross  made  of  wood. 

^^  lost.  ^^  high.  ^2  2,xQ  brought. 

^^  very  long  we  may  call.     Percy  printed  this  incorrectly,  Wei  I 
longe.] 


14         AN    ORIGINAL    BALLAD 

Nou  is  Edward  of  Carnarvan 

King  of  Engelond  al  aplyht/ 
God  lete  him  ner  be  worse  man  75 

Then  his  fader,  ne  lasse  of  myht, 
To  holden  is  pore  men  to  ryht, 

And  understonde  good  counsail, 
Al  Engelond  for  to  wysse  ant  dyht  f 

Of  gode  knyhtes  darh^  him  nout  fail  80 

Thah*  mi  tonge  were  mad  of  stel, 

Ant  min  herte  y-yote^  of  bras, 
The  godness  myht  y  never  telle, 

That  with  kyng  Edward  was  : 
Kyng,  as  thou  art  cleped^  conquerour,  85 

In  uch^  bataille  thou  hadest  prys  ; 
God  bringe  thi  soule  to  the  honour, 

That  ever  wes,  ant  ever  ys. 

*^*  Here  follow  in  the  original  three  lines  more,  which,  as 
seemingly  redundant,  we  chuse  to  throw  to  the  bottom  of  the 
page,  viz. : 

"  That  lasteth  ay  withouten  ende, 

Bidde  we  God,  ant  oure  Ledy  to  thilke  blisse 
Tesus  us  sende.     Amen/* 


III. 

AN    ORIGINAL    BALLAD    BY   CHAUCER. 

HIS  little  sonnet,  which  hath  escaped  all  the  editors  of 
Chaucer's  works,  is  now  printed  for  the  first  time  from 
an  ancient  MS.  in  the  Pepysian  Library,  that  contains 
many  other  poems  of  its  venerable  author.  The  versi- 
fication is  of  that  species,  which  the  French  call  rondeau,  very 
naturally  Englished  by  our  honest  countrymen  round  O.     Tho'  so 

\}  entirely.         ^  to  govern  and  order.         ^  need.         "^  though. 
*  cast.  ^  called.  '^  each.] 


BY    CHAUCER.  15 

early  adopted  by  them,  our  ancestors  had  not  the  honour  of 
inventing  it  :  Chaucer  picked  it  up,  along  with  other  better  things, 
among  the  neighbouring  nations.  A  fondness  for  laborious  trifles 
hath  always  prevailed  in  the  dark  ages  of  literature.  The  Greek 
poets  have  had  their  wings  and  axes  :  the  great  father  of  English 
poesy  may  therefore  be  pardoned  one  poor  solitary  rondeau. — 
Geofrey  Chaucer  died  Oct.  25,  1400. 

[These  verses  are  printed  in  Morris's  Aldine  Editio7i  of  Chaucer 
(vol.  vi.  pp.  304-5),  but  there  is  no  conclusive  evidence  that  they 
are  really  by  Chaucer.  Mr.  Furnivall  writes  (^Trial  Forewof'ds, 
Chaucer  Society,  1871,  p.  32): — "With  the  Pity  I  should  like 
much  to  class  the  Roimdel  ...  as  one  of  the  poet's  genuine 
works,  though  it  is  not  assigned  to  him  (so  far  as  I  know),  by  any 
MS.  of  authority.  It  exactly  suits  the  Compleynte  of  Pite ;  there 
is  nothing  in  it  (so  far  as  I  can  see),  to  make  it  not  Chaucer's,  and 
it  is  of  the  same  form  as  his  Roundel  in  the  Parlia7ne7it  of  Foules.^'' 
Mr.  Hales  suggests  to  me  that  the  poem  may  have  been  written  by 
one  of  Chaucer's  followers,  and  refers  to  verse  260  of  the  Knighfs 
Tale: 

"  The  freissche  beaut^  sleeth  me  sodeynly," 

as  having  probably  given  the  hint  to  the  writer  of  this  rondeati.'] 


I.  I. 

OURE  two  eyn  will  sle  me  sodenly, 
I  may  the  beaute  of  them  not  sustene, 
So  wendeth  it  thorowout  my  herte  kene. 


2. 

And  but  your  words  will  helen  hastely 
My  hertis  wound,  while  that  it  is  grene, 
Youre  two  eyn  will  sle  me  sodenly. 

3- 

Upon  my  trouth  I  sey  yow  feithfully, 
That  ye  ben  of  my  liffe  and  deth  the  quene ; 
For  with  my  deth  the  trouth  shal  be  sene. 
Youre  two  eyn,  &c. 


AN    ORIGINAL    BALLAD. 

II.  I. 

So  hath  youre  beauty  fro  your  herte  chased 
Pitee,  that  me  n'  availeth  not  to  pleyn ;  * 
For  daunger  halt^  your  mercy  in  his  cheyns 

2. 

Glltiess  my  deth  thus  have  ye  purchased ; 
I  sey  yow  soth,^  me  nedeth  not  to  fayn  : 
So  hath  your  beaute  fro  your  herte  chased, 

3- 
Alas,  that  nature  hath  in  yow  compassed 
So  grete  beaute,  that  no  man  may  atteyn 
To  mercy,  though  he  sterve  for  the  peyn. 
So  hath  youre  beaute,  &c. 

III.  I. 

Syn  I  fro  love  escaped  am  so  fat, 

I  nere  thinke  to  ben  in  his  prison  lene ; 

Syn  I  am  fre,  I  counte  hym  not  a  bene.* 

2. 

He  may  answere,  and  sey  this  and  that, 
I  do  no  fors,^  I  speak  ryght  as  I  mene ; 
Syn  I  fro  love  escaped  am  so  fat. 


Love  hath  my  name  i-strike  out  of  his  sclat. 
And  he  is  strike  out  of  my  bokes  clene : 
For  ever  mo  *  ther '  *"  is  non  other  mene. 
Syn  I  fro  love  escaped,  &c. 

*  This,  MS. 

]}  complain.  ^  holdeth.  ^  I  tell  3''0u  truth. 

*  bean,  a  term  of  contempt.  **  I  do  not  care.] 


THE    TURNAMENT,  ij 


THE    TURNAMENT    OF    TOTTENHAM : 

OR,   THE  WOOEING,  WiNNING,   AND   WeDDING    OF 
TiBBE,    THE    ReEv's    DAUGHTER    THERE. 

'T  does  honour  to  the  good  sense  of  this  nation,  that 
while  all  Europe  was  captivated  with  the  bewitching 
charms  of  chivalry  and  romance,  two  of  our  writers  in 
the  rudest  times  could  see  thro'  the  false  glare  that 
surrounded  them,  and  discover  whatever  was  absurd  in  them  both. 
Chaucer  wrote  his  Rhy?ne  of  Sir  Thopas  in  ridicule  of  the  latter ; 
and  in  the  following  poem  we  have  a  humorous  burlesque  of  the 
former.  Without  pretending  to  decide,  whether  the  institution  ot 
chivalry  was  upon  the  whole  useful  or  pernicious  in  the  rude  ages, 
a  question  that  has  lately  employed  many  good  writers,*  it  evi- 
dently encouraged  a  vindictive  spirit,  and  gave  such  force  to  the 
custom  of  duelling,  that  there  is  little  hope  of  its  being  abolished. 
This,  together  with  the  fatal  consequences  which  often  attended 
the  diversion  of  the  turnament, .  was  sufficient  to  render  it  ob- 
noxious to  the  graver  part  of  mankind.  Accordingly  the  Church 
early  denounced  its  censures  against  it,  and  the  State  was  often 
prevailed  on  to  attempt  its  suppression.  But  fashion  and  opinion 
are  superior  to  authority :  and  the  proclamations  against  tilting 
were  as  little  regarded  in  those  times,  as  the  laws  against  duelling 
are  in  these.  This  did  not  escape  the  discernment  of  our  poet, 
who  easily  perceived  that  inveterate  opinions  must  be  attacked  by 
other  weapons,  besides  proclamations  and  censures :  he  accord- 
ingly made  use  of  the  keen  one  of  ridicule.  With  this  view  he  has 
here  introduced,  with  admirable  humour,  a  parcel  of  clowns, 
imitating  all  the  solemnities  of  the  tourney.  Here  we  have  the 
regular  challenge — the  appointed  day — the  lady  for  the  prize — the 
formal  preparations — the  display  of  armour — the  scucheons  and 
devices — the  oaths  taken  on  entering  the  lists — the  various  acci- 


*  See  (Mr.  Hurd's)  Letters  on  Chivalry^  8vo.  1762,  Me?noires  de 
la  Chevalerte,  par  M.  de  la  Ctirne  de  Saint e- Pal  aye,  1759,  2  torn. 
i2mo.  &c. 


1 8  THE    TURNAMENT 

dents  of  the  encounter — the  victor  leading  off  the  prize — and  the 
magnificent  feasting — with  all  the  other  solemn  fopperies  that 
usually  attended  the  pompous  turnament.  And  how  acutely  the 
sharpness  of  the  author's  humour  must  have  been  felt  in  those 
days,  we  may  learn  from  what  we  can  perceive  of  its  keenness 
now,  when  time  has  so  much  blunted  the  edge  of  his  ridicule. 

The  T2i7'nament  of  Tottenham  was  first  printed  from  an  ancient 
MS.  in  163 1,  4to.,  by  the  Rev.  William  Bedwell,  rector  of  Totten- 
ham, who  was  one  of  the  translators  of  the  Bible.  He  tells  us,  it 
was  written  by  Gilbert  Pilkington,  thought  to  have  been  some  time 
parson  of  the  same  parish,  and  author  of  another  piece,  intitled, 
Fassio  Domini  Jesic  Christi.  Bedwell,  who  was  eminently  skilled 
in  the  Oriental  and  other  languages,  appears  to  have  been  but  little 
conversant  with  the  ancient  writers  in  his  own,  and  he  so  little 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  poem  he  was  publishing,  that  he 
contends  for  its  being  a  serious  narrative  of  a  real  event,  and 
thinks  it  must  have  been  written  before  the  time  of  Edward  III. 
because  tumaments  were  prohibited  in  that  reign.  *'  I  do  verily 
beleeve,"  says  he,  "  that  this  turnament  was  acted  before  this  pro- 
clamation of  K.  Edward.  For  how  durst  any  to  attempt  to  do 
that,  although  in  sport,  which  was  so  straightly  forbidden,  both  by 
the  civill  and  ecclesiasticall  power?  For  although  they  fought  not 
with  lances,  yet,  as  our  authour  sayth,  *  It  was  no  childrens  game.* 
And  what  would  have  become  of  him,  thinke  you,  which  should 
have  slayne  another  in  this  manner  of  j easting?  Would  he  not, 
trow  you,  have  been  han^d  for  it  in  earnest  ?  yea,  ami  have  bene 
buried  like  a  doggeV^  It  is,  however,  well  known  that  turnaments 
were  in  use  down  to  the  reign  of  Elizabeth. 

In  the  first  editions  of  this  work,  Bedwell's  copy  was  reprinted 
here,  with  some  few  conjectural  emendations ;  but  as  Bedwell 
seemed  to  have  reduced  the  orthography  at  least,  if  not  the  phra- 
seology, to  the  standard  of  his  own  time,  it  was  with  great  pleasure 
that  the  Editor  was  informed  of  an  ancient  MS.  copy  preserved  in 
the  Museum  (Harl.  MSS.  5396),  which  appeared  to  have  been 
transcribed  in  the  reign  of  K.  Hen.  VI.  about  1456.  This  obliging 
information  the  Editor  owed  to  the  friendship  of  Tho.  Tyrwhitt, 
Esq.,  and  he  has  chiefly  followed  that  more  authentic  transcript, 
improved  however  by  some  readings  from  Bedwell's  book. 

[A  writer  in  the  Ge?itlemaii!s  Magazine  (July,  1794,  p.  613), 
calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  this  ballad  is  "  a  burlesque  upon  the 
feudal  custom  of  marrying  an  heiress  to  the  knight  who  should 
vanquish  all  his  opponents  at  a  solemn  assembly  holden  for  the 
purpose.*' 

Bcdwcll*s  MS.  is  now  in  the  Cambridge  public  library  (Ff.  5, 
48),  and  Mr.  Thomas  Wright,  who  has  printed  it  in  a  miniature 


OF    TOTTENHAM.  19 

volume,  believes  it  to  have  been  written  as  early  as  the  reign  of 
Edward  II. 

Bedwell  was  chaplain  to  Sir  Henry  Wotton  in  his  embassy  to 
Venice,  where  he  is  said  to  have  assisted  the  celebrated  Father 
Paul  in  the  composition  of  his  History  of  the  Council  of  Trent. 
The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  inscription  on  Bedwell's  monument 
in  the  chancel  of  Tottenham  church  : — "  Here  lyes  interred  in  this 
chancel  Mr.  William  Bedwell,  sometime  vicar  of  this  church  and 
one  of  King  James's  translators  of  the  Bible,  and  for  the  Easterne 
tongues  as  learned  a  man  as  most  lived  in  these  modeme  times. 
Aged  70.     Dyed  May  the  5th,  1632."] 


all  thes  kene  conquerours  to   carpe*   it 
were  kynde ; 
Of  fele  feyytyng^  folk  ferly^  we  fynde; 
The  Turnament  of  Totenham  have  we  in 
mynde ; 
It  were  harme  sych  hardynes  were  holden  byhynde, 
In  story  as  we  rede  5 

Of  Hawkyn,  of  Herry, 
Of  Tomkyn,  of  Terry, 
Of  them  that  were  dughty* 
And  stal worth  ^  in  dede. 

It  befel  in  Totenham  on  a  dere^  day,  10 

Ther  was  mad  a  shurtyng'^  be  the  hy-way : 
Theder  com  al  the  men  of  the  contray. 
Of  Hyssylton,^  of  Hy-gate,  and  of  Hakenay, 
And  all  the  swete  swynkers.^ 

Ther  hopped  Hawkyn,  15 

Ther  daunsed  Dawkyn, 
Ther  trumped  Tomkyn, 

And  all  were  trewe  drynkers. 

P  talk.  2  fierce  fighting.  ^  wonder.  *  doughty. 

^  stout.  ^  dire  or  sad.  ''  sport.  *  Islington. 

*  ^bourers.] 


20  THE    TURNAMENT 

Tyl  the  day  was  gon  and  evyn-song  past, 
That  thay  schuld  reckyn  ther  scot  and  ther  counts 
cast  \  20 

Perkyn  the  potter  into  the  press  past, 
And  sayd  Randol  the  refe/  a  doyter^  thou  hast, 
Tyb  the  dere : 

Therfor  faine  wyt  wold  I,' 

Whych  of  all  thys  bachelery  ^5 

Were  best  worthye 

To  wed  hur  to  hys  fere.* 

Upstyrt  thos  gadelyngys^  wyth  ther  lang  staves, 
And  sayd,  Randol  the  refe,  lo !  thys  lad  raves ; 
Boldely  amang  us  thy  doyter  he  craves  ;  30 

We  er  rycher  men  then  he,  and  mor  gode  haves 
Of  cattell  and  corn  ; 

Then  sayd  Perkyn,   To  Tybbe  I   have 

hyyt^ 
That  I  schal  be  alway  redy  in  my  ryyt. 
If  that  it  schuld  be  thys  day  sevenyyt,       \% 
Or  elles  yet  to  morn/ 

Then  sayd  Randolfe  the  refe,  Ever  be  he  waryd,' 
That  about  thys  carpyng-  lenger  wold  be  taryd : 
I  wold  not  my  doyter,  that  scho^  were  miscaryd, 
But  at  hur  most  worschip  I  wold  scho  were  maryd  ,  4.0 
Therfor  a  Turnament  schal  begynne 
Thys  day  sevenyyt, — 
Wyth  a  flayl  for  to  fyyt : 
And  *  he,*  that  is  most  of  myght 

Schal  brouke  hur  wyth  wynne/®         45 


Ver.  20.     It  is  not  very  clear  in  the  MS.  whether  it  should  be 
conis,  or  confers, 

[^  bailiff.  ^  daughter.  ^  know  would  I. 

*  to  wed  her  for  his  mate.  ^  idle  fellows. 

*  promised.  "^  it  be  to-morrow.      ^  accursed. 

*  she.  ^^  shall  liave  possession  of  her  with  joy.] 


OF    TOTTENHAM.  21 

Whoso  berys^  hym  best  in  the  turnament, 
Hym  schal  be  granted  the  gre^  be  the  comon  assent, 
For  to  Wynne  my  doyter  wyth  *  dughtynesse '  of  dent,'' 
And  *  coppell '  my  brode-henne  *  that  *  was  broyt  out 
of  Kent : 
And  my  dunnyd  kowe  50 

For  no  spens*  wyl  I  spare, 
For  no  cattell  wyl  I  care, 
He  schal  have  my  gray  mare, 
And  my  spottyd  sowe. 

Ther  was  many  *  a '  bold  lad  ther  bodyes  to  bede  '?    55 
Than  thay  toke  thayr  leve,  and  homward  they  yede  f 
And  all  the  weke  afterward  graythed  ther  wede/ 
Tyll  it  come  to  the  day,  that  thay  suld  do  ther  dede. 
They  armed  ham^  in  matts  ; 

Thay  set  on  ther  nollys,^  60 

For  to  kepe  ther  pollys/** 
Gode  blake  bollys," 

For  batryng  of  bats/* 

Thay  sowed  tham  in  schepeskynnes,  for  thay  schuld 

not  brest  :^^ 
Ilk-on^*  toke  a  blak  hat,  insted  of  a  crest :  65 

'  A  basket  or  a  panyer  before  on  ther  brest,' 
And  a  flayle  in  ther  hande  ;  for  to  fyght  prest/* 
Furth  gon  thay  fare  :  ^^ 

Ther  was  kyd^^  mekyl  fors,^* 
Who  schuld  best  fend  hys  cors  :*'  70 

He  that  had  no  gode  hors. 
He  gat  hym  a  mare. 

Ver.  48.  Dozty,  MS.  V.  49.  coppeld.  We  still  use  the  phrase 
"a  copple-crowned  hen."  V.  57.  gayed,  PC.  V.  66  is  wanting 
in  MS.  and  supplied  from  PC.     V.  72.  He  borrowed  him,  PC. 

[^  beareth.       ^  prize.       ^  blow.       ^  expense.      ^  bid  or  ofifer. 
®  went.         '  made  ready  their  clothing.       ^  them.        ^  heads. 
^°  polls.       ^^  bowls.         ^^  cudgels.     ^^  burst.         ^*  each  one. 
-  ^^  ready.      ^^  they  began  to  go  forth.  ^^  shown. 

*^  much  strength.  i^  best  defend  his  body.j 


2  2  THE    TURNAMENT 

Sych  another  gadryng'  have  I  not  sene  oft, 
When  all  the  gret  company  com  rydand  to  the  croft :' 
Tyb  on  a  gray  mare  was  set  up  on  loft  75 

On  a  sek  ful  of  fedyrs,^  for  scho  schuld  syt  soft, 
And  led  *  till  the  gap.' 

For  cryeng  of  the  men 
Forther  wold  not  Tyb  then, 
Tyl  scho  had  hur  brode  hen  80 

Set  in  hur  Lap. 

A  gay  gyrdyl  Tyb  had  on,  borowed  for  the  nonys,* 
And  a  garland  on  hur  hed  ful  of  rounde  bonys/ 
And  a  broche  on  hur  brest  ful  of  '  sapphyre '  stonys, 
Wyth  the  holy-rode  tokenyng,^  was  wrotyn^  for  the 
nonys ;  85 

For  no  '  spendings '  thay  had  spared. 
When  joly  Gyb  saw  hur  thare, 
He  gyrd  so  hys  gray  mare, 
*  That  scho  lete  a  fowkin  '^  fare 

At  the  rereward.  90 

I  wow  to  God,  quoth  Herry,  I  schal  not  lefe  behynde, 
May  I  mete  wyth  Bernard  on  Bayard  the  blynde, 
Ich  man  kepe  hym  out  of  my  wynde, 
For  whatsoever  that  he  be,  before  me  I  fynde, 


Ver.  76.  The  MS.  had  once  sedys,  i.e.  seeds,  which  appears  to 
have  been  altered  to  fedyrs,  or  feathers.  BedwelFs  copy  has 
Senvy,  z.e.  Mustard-seed.  V.  77.  and  led  hur  to  cap,  MS.  V.  83. 
Bedwell's  FC.  has  "  Ruel-Bones."  V.  84.  safer  stones,  MS.  V. 
85.  wrotyn,  i.e.  wrought.  FC.  reads,  written.  V.  86.  No  catel 
(perhaps  chatel)  they  had  spared,  MS.  V.  89.  Then  .  .  . 
faucon,  MS. 

\}  gathering.  ^  riding  to  the  inclosure. 

^  sackful!  of  feathers.  ''  nonce  or  occasion. 

*  Chaucer  uses  the  expression  "rowel  boon"  in  his  Tale  of 
Sir  Thopas,  which  is  explained  as  round  bone.  ^  token. 

"^  wrought.  ®  crepitus  vejttris.l 


OF    TOTTENHAM,  23 

I  wot  I  schall  liym  greve.  v, 

Wele  sayd,  quoth  Hawkyn. 
And  I  wow,  quoth  Dawkyn, 
May  I  mete  wyth  Tomkyn, 

Hys  fiayle  I  schal  hym  reve.* 

I  make  a  vow,  quoth  Hud,  Tyb,  son  schal  thou  se,  100 
Whych  of  all  thys  bachelery  '  granted '  is  the  gre  • 
I  schal  scomfet"^  thaym  all,  for  the  love  of  the  ; 
In  what  place  so  I  come  thay  schal  have  dout^  of  me, 
Myn  armes  ar  so  clere : 

I  here  a  reddyl,"*  and  a  rake,  »os 

Poudred  wyth  a  brenand  drake/ 
And  three  cantells^  of  a  cake 
In  ycha^  cornere. 

I  vow  to  God,  quoth  Hawkyn,  yf  '  I  *  have  the  gowt,^ 
Al  that  I  fynde  in  the  felde  '  thrustand '  here  aboute,  no 
Have  I  twyes  or  thryes  redyn  thurgh  the  route, 
In  ycha  stede  ther  thay^  me  se,  of  me  thay  schal  have 
doute. 
When  I  begyn  to  play. 

I  make  avowe  that  I  ne  schall; 
But  yf  Tybbe  wyl  me  call/^  ii$ 

Or  I  be  thryes  don  fall,^^ 
Ryyt  onys^-  com  away. 

Then  sayd  Terry,  and  swore  be  hys  crede ; 
Saw  thou  never  yong  boy  forther  hys  body  bede,*' 
For  when  thay  fyyt  fastest  and  most  ar  in  drede,  120 
I  schall  take  Tyb  by  the  hand,  and  hur  away  lede  : 


Ver.  loi.  grant,  ;MS.     V.  109.  yi  he  have,  MS.      V.  no.  the 

MS.  literally  has  tJf.  sand,  here. 

\}  deprive.          ^  discomfit.  ^  fear.           *  riddle  or  sieve. 
^  sprinkled  over  with  firebrands.    ^  pieces.       '  each. 

*  though  I  have  the  gout.  ^  in  each  place  where  they. 

^°  unless  Tib  will  call  me.  ^^  ere  I  be  thrice  made  to 

^*  even  once.  ^^  engage.] 


24  THE    TURNAMENT 

I  am  armed  at  the  full ; 

In  myn  armys  I  bere  wele 
A  doy  trogh/  and  a  pele,^ 
A  sadyll  wythout  a  panel!,  7*5 

Wyth  a  fles  of  woll.^ 

I  make  a  vow,  quoth  Dudman,  and  swor  be  the  stra, 
Whyls  me  ys  left  my  '  mare,'  thou  gets  hurr  not  swa  ;* 
For  scho  ys  wele  schapen,  and  liyt  as  the  rae,^ 
Ther  is  no  capuP  in  thys  myle  befor  hur  schal  ga  ;^  130 
Sche  wul  ne  noyt  begyle : 

Sche  wyl  me  bere,  I  dar  say, 
On  a  lang  somerys  day, 
Fro  Hyssylton  to  Hakenay, 

Noyt  other  half  myle.  135 

I  make  a  vow,  quoth  Perkyn,  thow  speks  of  cold  rost, 
I  schal  wyrch  *  wyselyer'^  withouten  any  bost : 
Five  of  the  best  capulys,  that  ar  in  thys  ost, 
I  wot  I  schal  thaym  wynne,  and  bryng  thaym  to  my 
cost, 
And  here  I  grant  thaym  Tybbe.  140 

Wele  boyes  here  ys  he. 
That  wyl  fyyt,  and  not  fle. 
For  I  am  in  my  jolyte, 

Wyth  so  forth,  Gybbe. 

When  thay  had  ther  vowes  made,  furth  can  thay 
hie,  14s 

Wyth  flayles,  and  homes,  and  trumpes  mad  of  tre  : 
Ther  were  all  the  bachelerys  of  that  contre ; 
Thay  were  dyyt'^  in  aray,  as  thaymselfes  wold  be  : 


Ver.  137.  fwyselier,  MS.      V.  128.  merth,  MS.      V.  146.  flailes 
and  harnisse,  FC, 

[*  dough  trough.  ^  a  baker's  long-handled  shovel. 

^  fleece  of  wool.  '^  so.  '^  roe.  ^  horse. 

^  go.  ^  work  more  wiselv.  •  ^  dressed.] 


OF    TOTTENHAM.  25 

Thayr  baners  were  ful  bryyt 

Of  an  old  rotten  fell  ;^  150 

The  cheveron  of  a  plow-mell  ;* 
And  the  schadow  of  a  bell, 

Poudred  wyth  the  mone  lyyt' 

I  wot  yt  *  was  '  no  chylder*  game,  whan  thay  togedyr 

met, 
When  icha  freke^  in  the  feld  on  hys  feloy^  bet,       155 
And  layd  on  styfly,  for  nothyng  wold  thay  let, 
And  foght  ferly^  fast,  tyll  ther  horses  swet, 
And  few  wordys  spoken. 

Ther  were  flayles  al  to  slatred,® 
Ther  were  scheldys  al  to  flatred,  160 

Bollys  and  dysches  al  to  schatred. 
And  many  hedys  brokyn 

There  was  clynkyng  of  cart-sadellys,  &  clatteryng  of 

Cannes ; 
Of  fele  frekys^  in  the  feld  brokyn  were  their  fannes ; 
Of  sum  were  the  hedys  brokyn,  of  sum  the  brayn- 
pannes,^^  165 

And  yll  were  thay  besene,^^  or  thay  went  thanns, 
Wyth  swyppyng  of  swepyls  -y^ 

Thay  were  so  wery  for-foght,^*^ 
Thay  myyt  not  fyyt  mare  oloft,'* 
But  creped  about  in  the  '  croft,'  170 

As  thay  were  croked  crepyls. 


Ver.  151.  The  chiefe,  PC.     V.  154.  yt  ys,  MS.     V.  163.  The 
boyes  were,  MS.     V.  170.  creped  then  about  in  the  croft,  MS. 

[i  hide. 

^  a  small  wooden  hammer  occasionally  fixed  to  the  plough. 
^  moonlight.  ^  child's.  ^  man.  ^  fellow. 

^  wonderfuUy.  ^  splintered.  ^  many  men.      ^^  skulls. 

^^  dressed.  ^^  striking  fast  of  the  staffs  of  the  flails. 

*2  over-fought.  ^"^  on  horseback.] 


26  THE    TURNAMENT 

Perkyn  was  so  wery,  that  he  began  to  loute '} 
Help,  Hud,  I  am  ded  in  thys  ylk  rowte : 
An  hors  for  forty  pens,  a  gode  and  a  stoute? 
That  I  may  lyytly  come  of  my  noye^  cute,  t? i 

For  no  cost  wyl  I  spare. 

He  styrt  up  as  a  snayle. 

And  hent^  a  capul  be  the  tayle, 

And  '  reft '  Dawkin  hys  flayle, 

And  wan  there  a  mare.  iSo 

Perkyn  wan  five,  and  Hud  wan  twa : 

Glad  and  blythe  thay  ware,  that  they  had  done  sa  ; 

Thay  wold  have  tham  to  Tyb,  and  present  hur  with 

tha:^ 
The  Capulls  were  so  wery,  that  thay  myyt  not  ga. 
But  styl  gon  thay  stond.  185 

Alas!  quoth  Hudde,  my  joye  I  lese;^ 
Mee  had  lever  then  a  ston  of  chase, 
That  dere  Tyb  had  al  these, 

And  wyst  it  were  my  send.® 

Perkyn  turnyd  hym  about  in  that  ych  thrang,         ifo 
Among  thos  wery  boyes  he  wrest  and  he  wrang  ; 
He  threw  tham  doun  to  the  erth,  and  thrast  tham 

amang. 
When  he  saw  Tyrry  away  wyth  Tyb  fang/ 
And  after  hym  ran  ; 

Off  his  horse  he  hym  drogh,'*  i9» 

And  gaf  hym  of  hys  flayl  inogh  : 
We  te  he  !  quoth  Tyb,  and  lugh, 
Ye  er  a  dughty  man. 


Ver.  179.  razt,  MS.     V.  185.  stand,  MS.      V.  189.  sand,  MS. 
V.  190.  the  PC.  reads,  ilk  throng. 

\}  stoop.  '-^  hurt.  2  laid  hold  of.  *  them. 

^  lose.  ^  knew  it  were  my  sending,  **  make  o& 

^  drew.] 


OF    TOTTENHAM,  27 

'  Thus'  thay  tugged,  and  rugged,  tyl  yt  was  nere  nyyt: 
All  the  wy ves  of  Tottenham  came  to  se  that  syyt    aoo 
Wyth  wyspes,  and  kexis,*  and  ryschys^  there  lyyt. 
To  fetch  hom  ther  husbandes,  that  were  tham  trouth 
plyyt ; 
And  sum  broyt  gret  harwos,^ 

Ther  husbandes  hom  to  fetch, 
Sum  on  dores,  and  sum  on  hech,^  205 

Sum  on  hyrdyllys,  and  som  on  crech.* 
And  sum  on  whele-barows. 

Thay  gaderyd  Perkyn  about,  '  on '  everych  syde, 
And  grant  hym  ther  *  the  gre,*  the  more  was  hys 

pryde : 
Tyb  and  he,  wyth  gret  'mirth,'  homwardcon  thayryde, 
And  were  al  nyyt  togedyr,  tyl  the  morn  tyde  ;        an 
And  thay  '  to  church  went  : ' 

So  wele  hys  nedys  he  has  sped, 
That  dere  Tyb  he  '  hath'  wed  ; 
The  prayse-folk,^  that  hur  led,  sis 

Were  of  the  Turnament. 

To  that  ylk  fest  com  many  for  the  nones  ; 

Some  come  hyphalte,^  and  some  trippand  '  thither ' 

on  the  stonys ; 
Sum  a  staf  in  hys  hand,  and  sum  two  at  onys  ; 
Of  sum  where  the  hedes  broken,  of  some  the  schulder 

bonys :  ~  %io 


Ver.  199.  Thys,  MS.  V.  204.  hom  for  to  fetch,  MS.  V.  208. 
about  everych  side,  MS.  V.  209.  the  gre,  is  wanting  in  MS. 
V.  210.  mothe,  MS.  V.  212.  and  thay  ifere  assent,  MS.  V.  214. 
had  wed,  MS.  V.  215.  The  cheefemen.  PC  V.  218,  trippand 
on,  MS. 

P  elder  sticks  used  for  candles.  ^  rushes.  ^  harrows. 

^  half  door  of  a  cottage.  ^  crutch.  ^  singing  men  and 

women.  ^  lame  in  the  hip.] 


28  THE    TURNAMENT. 

With  sorrow  come  thay  thedyr. 

Wo  was  Hawkyn,  wo  was  Herry. 
Wo  was  Tomkyn,  wo  was  Terry, 
And  so  was  all  the  bachelary, 

When  thay  met  togedyr.  *zi 

*  At  that  fest  thay  wer  servyd  with  a  ryche  aray, 
Every  fyve  &  fyve  had  a  cokenay  ;^ 
And  so  thay  sat  in  jolyte  al  the  lung  day ; 
And  at  the  last  thay  went  to  bed  with  ful  gret  deray  :^ 
Mekyl  myrth  was  them  among  ;  %io 

In  every  corner  of  the  hous 
Was  melody  delycyous 
For  to  here  precyus 

Of  six  menys  song.t 

*  In  the  former  impressions  this  concluding  stanza  was  only 
given  from  Bedwell's  printed  edition,  but  it  is  here  copied  from 
the  old  MS.  wherein  it  has  been  since  found  separated  from  the 
rest  of  the  poem,  by  several  pages  of  a  money  account,  and  other 
heterogeneous  matter. 

t  Six-men's  song,  i.e.  a  song  for  six  voices.  So  Shakespeare 
uses  three-man  song-men,  in  his  Winter's  Tale,  act  iii.  sc.  3,  to 
denote  men  that  could  sing  catches  composed  for  three  voices. 
Of  this  sort  are  Weelkes's  madrigals  mentioned  below,  book  ii. 
song  9.  So  again  Shakespeare  has  three-men  beetle ;  /.  e.  a  beetle 
or  rammer  worked  by  three  men,  2  Hen.  IV.  act  i.  sc.  3. 

[^  a  lean  chicken.  ^  confusion.] 


VICTORY  AT  AGINCOURT.        29 


V. 
FOR  THE   VICTORY   AT  AGINCOURT. 


,HAT  our  plain  and  martial  ancestors  could  wield  their 
swords  much  better  than  their  pens,  will  appear  from 
the  following  homely  rhymes,  which  were  drawn  up 
by  some  poet  laureat  of  those  days  to  celebrate  the 
•^TYimortal  victory  gained  at  Agincourt,  Oct.  25,  1415.  This  song 
or  hymn  is  given  meerly  as  a  curiosity,  and  is  printed  from  a  MS. 
copy  in  the  Pepys  collection,  vol.  i.  folio.  It  is  there  accompanied 
with  the  musical  notes,  which  are  copied  on  the  opposite  page. 

[When  the  news  of  this  great  victory  arrived  in  England,  the 
people  "were  literally  mad  with  joy  and  triumph,"  and  although 
Henry  V.  on  his  entrance  into  London  after  the  battle,  com- 
manded that  no  ''  ditties  should  be  made  and  sung  by  minstrels  or 
others  "  in  praise  of  Agincourt,  "  for  that  he  would  whollie  have 
the  praise  and  thankes  altogether  given  to  God,"  several  songs 
have  come  down  to  us  on  this  soul-inspiring  theme.  Besides  the 
present  ballad  there  are,  i.  Agincoiirte  Battell^  beginning — 

**  A  councell  brave  our  King  did  hold," 

in  the  Percy  Folio  MS.  (see  Hales  and  Furnivall's  edition,  vol.  ii. 
p.  166). 

2.  Agincourt,  or  the  English  Bowjnan^s  Glory,  a  spirited  ballad 
quoted  in  Heywood's  King  Edward  IV.,  the  first  stanza  of  which 
is  as  follows — 

"Agincourt,  Agincourt  ! 
Know  ye  not  Agincourt  ? 
Where  English  slue  and  hurt 

All  their  French  foemen  ? 
With  our  pikes  and  bills  brown, 
How  the  French  were  beat  downe, 

Shot  by  our  bowman." 

5.   King  Henry  V.,  his  Conquest  of  France,  commencing — 
"  As  our  King  lay  musing  on  his  bed." 


4- 
ton. 


The  Cambro-Briton^ s  Ballad  of  Agincourt,  by  Michael  Dray- 


30  FOR    THE     VICTORY 

Besides  these  ballads  there  are  a  poem  attributed  to  Lydgate, 
and  Drayton's  Battaile  of  Agincourt  For  further  information  on 
the  subject  the  reader  should  see  Sir  Nicholas  Harris  Nicolas's 
History  of  the  Battle,  and  Hales  and  Fumivall's  edition  of  the 
Percy  Folio  MS.  (vol.  ii.  pp.  158,  595). 

Dr.  Rimbault  describes  the  music  attached  to  the  present  ballad 
"  as  the  first  English  regular  composition  of  which  we  have  any 
remains."] 


Deo  gr alias  Angiia  redde  pro  victoria  I 

WRE  kynge  went  forth  to  Normandy, 
With  grace  and  myyt  of  chivalry  ; 
The  God  for  hym  wrouyt  marvelously, 
Wherefore  Englonde  may  calle,  and  cry  5 

Deo  gratias : 
Deo  gr alias  Angiia  redde  pro  vicloria. 

He  sette  a  sege,  the  sothe  for  to  say, 
To  Harflue^  toune  with  ryal  aray; 
That  toune  he  wan,  and  made  a  fray,  10 

That  Fraunce  shall  rywe  tyl  domes  day. 

Deo  gr  alias  y  &c. 

Then  went  owre  kynge,  with  alle  his  oste, 
Thorowe  Fraunce  for  all  the  Frenshe  boste ; 
He  spared  ' for'  drede  of  leste,  ne  most,  15 

Tyl  he  come  to  Agincourt  coste.^ 

Deo  gr  alias y  &c. 

Than  for  sothe  that  knyyt  comely 
In  Agincourt  feld  he  fauyt  manly, 
Thorow  grace  of  God  most  myyty  m 

He  had  bothe  the  felde,  and  the  victory. 

Deo  gr  alias y  &c. 

]}  Harflcur.  ^  region.] 


AT   AGINCOURT.  31 

Ther  dukys,  and  erlys,  lorde  and  barone, 
Were  take,  and  slayne,  and  that  wel  sone, 
And  some  were  ledde  in  to  Lundone  zs 

With  joye,  and  merthe,  and  grete  renone. 

Deo  gr alias y  &c. 

Now  gracious  God  he  save  owre  kynge, 
His  peple,  and  all  his  wel  wyllynge, 
Gef  him  gode  lyfe,  and  gode  endynge,  30 

That  we  with  merth  mowe  savely  synge 

Deo  gratias  : 
Deo  gratias  Anglia  redde pro  victoria. 


VI. 
THE    NOT-BROWNE    MAYD. 

'HE  sentimental  beauties  of  this  ancient  ballad  have 
always  recommended  it  to  readers  of  taste,  notwith- 
^i^  standing  the  rust  of  antiquity  which  obscures  the  style 
and  expression.  Indeed  if  it  had  no  other  merit  than 
the  having  afforded  the  groundwork  to  Prior's  Henry  and  Emma, 
this  ought  to  preserve  it  from  oblivion.  That  we  are  able  to  give 
it  in  so  correct  a  manner,  is  owing  to  the  great  care  and  exactness 
of  the  accurate  editor  of  the  Prolusions,  8vo.  1760;  who  has 
formed  the  text  from  two  copies  found  in  two  different  editions  of 
Arnolde's  Chronicle,  a  book  supposed  to  be  first  printed  about 
1 5  2 1 .  From  the  copy  in  the  Prolusions  the  following  is  printed, 
with  a  few  additional  improvements  gathered  from  another  edition 
of  Arnolde's  book*  preserved  in  the  public  library  at  Cambridge. 
All  the  various  readings  of  this  copy  will  be  found  here,  either 


*  This  (which  my  friend  Mr.  Farmer  supposes  to  be  the  first 
edition)  is  in  folio ;  the  folios  are  numbered  at  the  bottom  of  the 
leaf,  the  song  begins  at  folio  75.  The  poem  has  since  been 
collated  with  a  very  fine  copy  that  was  in  the  collection  of  the  late 
James  West,  Esq. ;  the  readings  extracted  thence  are  denoted  thus, 
"  Mr.  W.^' 


32       THE    ISro  T-BR  O  WNE    MA  YD. 

received  into  the  text,  or  noted  in  the  margin.  The  references  to 
the  Prolusions  will  shewwhere  they  occur.  In  our  ancient  folio 
MS.*  described  in  the  preface,  is  a  very  corrupt  and  defective  copy 
of  this  ballad,  which  yet  afforded  a  great  improvement  in  one 
passage.    See  v.  310. 

It  has  been  a  much  easier  task  to  settle  the  text  of  this  poem, 
than  to  ascertain  its  date.  The  ballad  of  the  Nutbrowne  Mayd 
was  first  revived  in  The  Muses  Mercury  for  June,  1707,  4to.  being 
prefaced  with  a  little  Essay  on  the  old  English  Foets  and  Poetry ; 
in  which  this  poem  is  concluded  to  be  "  near  300  years  old,"  upon 
reasons  which,  though  they  appear  inconclusive  to  us  now,  were 
sufficient  to  determine  Prior,  who  there  first  met  with  it.  How- 
ever, this  opinion  had  the  approbation  of  the  learned  Wanley,  an 
excellent  judge  of  ancient  books.  For  that  whatever  related  to 
the  reprinting  of  this  old  piece  was  referred  to  Wanley,  appears 
from  two  letters  of  Prior's  preserved  in  the  British  Museum  (Harl. 
MSS.  No.  3777).  The  editor  of  the  Prolusions  thinks  it  cannot 
be  older  than  the  year  1500,  because,  in  Sir  Thomas  More's  tale 
of  The  Serjeant,  &c.,  which  was  written  about  that  time,  there 
appears  a  sameness  of  rhythmus  and  orthography,  and  a  very  near 
affinity  of  words  and  phrases  with  those  of  this  ballad.  But  this 
reasoning  is  not  conclusive,  for  if  Sir  Thomas  More  made  this 
ballad  his  model,  as  is  very  likely,  that  will  account  for  the  same- 
ness of  measure,  and  in  some  respect  for  that  of  words  and  phrases, 
even  tho'  this  had  been  written  long  before ;  and  as  for  the  or- 
thography, it  is  well  known  that  the  old  printers  reduced  that  of 
most  books  to  the  standard  of  their  own  times.  Indeed  it  is 
hardly  probable  that  an  antiquary  like  Amolde  would  have  in- 
serted it  among  his  historical  collections,  if  it  had  been  then  a 
modern  piece  ;  at  least  he  would  have  been  apt  to  have  named  its 
author.  But  to  shew  how  little  can  be  inferred  from  a  resemblance 
of  rhythmus  or  style,  the  Editor  of  these  volumes  has  in  his  ancient 
folio  MS.  a  poem  on  the  victory  of  Flodden-field,  written  in  the 
same  numbers,  with  the  same  alliterations,  and  in  orthography, 
phraseology,  and  style  nearly  resembling  the  Visions  of  Pierce 
Plowman.,  which  are  yet  known  to  have  been  composed  above  160 
years  before  that  battle.  As  this  poem  is  a  great  curiosity,  we 
shall  give  a  few  of  the  introductory  lines  : 

*'  Grant  gracious  God,  grant  me  this  time, 
That  I  may  say,  or  I  cease,  thy  selven  to  please; 
And  Mary  his  mother,  that  maketh  all  this  world ; 
And  all  the  seemlie  saints,  that  sitten  in  heaven  \ 


[*  Hales  and  Furnivairs  edition,  vol.  iii.  p.  174.] 


THE    NOT-BROWNE    MAYD,      33 

I  will  carpe  of  kings,  that  conquered  full  wide, 
That  dwelled  in  this  land,  that  was  alyes  noble ; 
Henry  the  seaventh,  that  soveraigne  lord,"  &c.* 

With  regard  to  the  date  of  the  following  ballad,  we  have  taken 
a  middle  course,  neither  placed  it  so  high  as  Wanley  and  Prior, 
nor  quite  so  low  as  the  editor  of  the  Prolusions ;  we  should  have 
followed  the  latter  in  dividing  every  other  ^ine  into  two,  but  that 
the  whole  would  then  have  taken  up  more  room  than  could  be 
allowed  it  in  this  volume. 

[The  edition  of  Richard  Arnold's  Ch7'onide  (15  21)  mentioned 
above,  is  the  second ;  and  the  first,  which  is  undated,  was  printed 
at  Antwerp  in  1502.  This  edition  is  described  in  Brydges'  Cen- 
siira  LUeraria  (vol.  vi.  p.  114),  where  the  iV?//-^r(?K/;/  Maid  is  printed. 
A  copy  from  the  Balliol  MS.  354,  of  about  the  same  date,  is 
printed  in  Percy's  folio  manuscript,  ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall, 
vol.  iii.  p.  174.  Warton  will  not  allow  that  the  poem  was  written 
before  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  but  as  Percy  says, 
it  is  highly  improbable  that  an  antiquary  would  insert  a  modern 
piece  in  his  miscellany  of  curiosities. 

Percy  has  inserted  the  following  note  in  his  folio  MS. :  "  From 
the  concluding  words  of  this  last  stanza — 

[^  but  men  wold  that  men  shold 

be  kind  to  them  eche  one, 
yett  I  had  rather,  god  to  obay 

and  serve  but  him  alone'] 

it  should  seem  that  the  author  was  a  woman." 

Mr.  Skeat  remarks  that  the  part  of  the  fourth  stanza  before  the 
woman  speaks,  and  the  first  two  verses,  are  still  more  conclusive 
on  this  point.  On  the  other  side  it  is  noticeable  that  the  author 
speaks  as  a  man  at  line  353  : 

"...  that  we  may 

To  them  be  comfortable  ;  * 

but  this  may  only  be  a  blind. 

Few  readers  will  agree  with  Percy's  estimate  of  Prior's  poem, 
and  Henry  and  Emma  is  now  only  remembered  because  of  its 
connection  with  the  Nut-Brown  Maid. 

Warton  justly  points  out  how  the  simplicity  of  the  original  is 
decorated,  dilated,  and  consequently  spoilt  by  Prior,  who  crowds 
his  verses  with  zephyrs,  Chloe,  Mars,  the  Cyprian  deity,  &c.  Such 
lay  figures  as  these  are  quite  out  of  keeping  with  the  realities  of 
this  most  exquisite  poem. 

[*  Folio  Manuscript,  ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall,  vol.  i.  p.  212.J 
2  D 


34       THE    NOT-BROWNE    MA  YD. 

One  instance  of  Prior's  inability  to  appreciate  the  beauties  of  his 
original  will  be  sufficient.     The  tender  allusion  at  v.  232-3  : 

"  O  my  swete  mother,  before  all  other 
For  you  I  have  most  drede/' 

followed  by  the  reflection : 

"  But  nowe  adue  !     I  must  ensue 
Where  fortune  doth  me  lede," 

is  entirely  omitted  by  the  later  poet,  who  changes 

"  To  shorte  my  here,  a  bowe  to  bere, 
To  shote  in  tyme  of  nede," 
into 

"  Wanting  the  scissors,  with  these  hands  I'll  tear 
(If  that  obstructs  my  flight)  this  load  of  hair." 

The  Nut-Brown  Maid  has  always  been  highly  popular  (a  proof 
of  the  good  taste  of  the  people),  and  in  consequence  it  figures  in 
Captain  Cox's  collection  described  by  Laneham.  Another  proof 
of  its  popularity  is  the  existence  of  various  parodies,  one  of 
which  is  of  very  early  date. 

It  was  a  common  practice  in  the  sixteenth  century  to  turn  ordi- 
nary ballads  into  religious  songs.  The  New  Nutbi'owjie  Maid^ 
printed  by  John  Skot  about  1520,  reprinted  by  George  Isted  in 
1820  for  the  Roxburghe  Club,  and  again  reprinted  by  Dr.  Rim- 
bault  for  the  Percy  Society  (vol.  iv.),  1842,  is  an  instance  of  this 
practice.  It  is  a  close  parody  of  the  original,  and  purports  to  be 
"upon  the  passion  of  Cryste."  The  he  and  she  are  changed  to 
Maria  the  mayde  and  Jesus. 

Another  version  is  given  in  the  Percy  folio  MS.  (ed.  Hales  and 
Furnivall,  vol.  ii.  p.  334),  which  is  entitled  A  Jigge. 

The  incidents  are  vulgarized,  "  but,"  Mr.  Hales  observes,  "  the 
beauty  of  the  original  is  too  great  to  be  altogether  destroyed,  how- 
ever rude  the  hands  that  handle  it.  Something  of  the  charm  of  the 
Nut  Brown  Maid  lingers  around  this  7%"."] 


THE    NOT-BROWNE    MA  YD, 


E  it  ryght,  or  wrong,  these  men  among* 
On  women  do  complayne  ;  * 
Affyrmynge  this,  how  that  it  is 
A  labour  spent  in  vayne, 
To  love  them  wele  ;  for  never  a  dele'  % 

They  love  a  man  agayne  : 
For  late  a  man  do  what  he  can, 

Theyr  favour  to  attayne, 
Yet,  yf  a  newe  do  them  persue, 

Theyr  first  true  lover  than  lo 

Laboureth  for  nought ;  for  from  her^  thought 
He  is  a  banyshed  man. 

I  say  nat  nay,  but  that  all  day 

It  is  bothe  writ  and  sayd 
That  womans  faith  is,  as  who  sayth,  15 

All  utterly  decayd  ; 
But,  neverthelesse,  ryght  good  wytnesse 

In  this  case  might  be  layd. 
That  they  love  true,  and  continue : 

Recorde  the  Not-browne  Mayde :  20 

Which,  when  her  love  came,  her  to  prove, 

To  her  to  make  his  mone, 
Wolde  nat  depart ;  for  in  her  hart 

She  loved  but  hym  alone. 


*  My  friend  Mr.  Farmer  proposes  to  read  the  first  lines  thus  a^ 
a  Latinism : 

"  Be  it  right  or  wrong,  'tis  men  among, 
On  women  to  complayne/' 

Ver.  2.  Woman,  Prolusions  and  Mr.  West's  copy.    V.  n.  her, 
U€,  tlieir. 

P  at  intervals,  sometimes.  ^  not  a  bit.  ^  their.] 


36       THE    NOT-BROWNE    MA  YD. 

Than  betwalne  us  late  us  dyscus  s^ 

What  was  all  the  manere 
Betwayne  them  two  :  we  wyll  also 

Tell  all  the  payne,  and  fere/ 
That  she  was  in.     Nowe  I  begyn, 

So  that  ye  me  answere ;  l» 

Wherfore,  all  ye,  that  present  be 

I  pray  you,  gyve  an  ere. 
"  I  am  the  knyght ;  I  come  by  nyght, 

As  secret  as  I  can  ; 
Saylnge,  Alas  !  thus  standeth  the  case,  j$ 

I  am  a  banyshed  man." 

And  I  your  wyll  for  to  fulfyll 

In  this  wyll  nat  refuse  ; 
Trustying  to  shewe,  in  wordes  fewe, 

That  men  have  an  yll  use  4» 

(To  theyr  own  shame)  women  to  blame, 

And  causelesse  them  accuse  : 
Therfore  to  you  I  answere  nowe, 

All  women  to  excuse, — 

She.* 

Myne  owne  hart  dere,  with  you  what  chere  ?   45 

I  pray  you,  tell  anone ; 
For,  in  my  mynde,  of  all  mankynde 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

He. 

It  standeth  so  ;  a  dede  is  do* 

Wherof  grete  harme  shall  growe  ;  50 

My  destiny  is  for  to  dy 

A  shamefull  deth,  I  trowe ; 

[*  Percy  printed  the  *'  She  "  at  the  beginning  of  this  stanza. 
^  pain  and  fear.     In  the  BaUiol  MS.  354,  the  reading  is  irtrfert 
(or  in  company  with  her  lover).  ^  done.] 


THE    NOT-BROWNE    MA  YD.       37 

Or  elles  to  fle  :  the  one  must  be. 

None  other  way  I  knowe, 
But  to  withdrawe  as  an  outlawe,  55 

And  take  me  to  my  bowe. 
Wherfore,  adue,  my  owne  hart  true  1 

None  other  rede  I  can  :^ 
For  I  must  to  the  grene  wode  go, 

Alone,  a  banyshed  man.  ^c 

She. 

0  lord,  what  is  thys  worldys  blysse, 
That  changeth  as  the  mone ! 

My  somers  day  in  lusty  may 
Is  derked"^  before  the  none. 

1  here  you  say,  farewell  :  Nay,  nay  $1 
We  depart^  nat  so  sone. 

Why  say  ye  so  ?  wheder  *  wyll  ye  go  ? 

Alas  !  what  have  ye  done  ? 
All  my  welfare  to  sorrowe  and  care 

Sholde  chaunge,  yf  ye  were  gone  ;  3» 

For,  in  my  mynde,  of  all  mankynde 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

He. 

I  can  beleve,  it  shall  you  greve. 

And  somewhat  you  dystrayne;* 
But,  aftyrwarde,  your  paynes  harde  75 

Within  a  day  or  twayne 
Shall  sone  aslake  f  and  ye  shall  take 

Comfort  to  you  agayne. 
Why  sholde  ye  ought  ?  for,  to  make  thought, 

Your  labour  were  in  vayne.  t* 


Ver.  63.  The  somers,  Frol, 


\}  advice  I  know. 
*  whither. 


^  darkened. 
''  afflict. 


8  separate. 
6  abate.] 


38       THE   NOT-BROWNE    MAYD, 

And  thus  I  do ;  and  pray  you  to, 

As  hartely/  as  I  can ; 
For  I  must  to  the  grene  wode  go, 

Alone,  a  banyshed  man. 

She. 

Now,  syth  that  ye  have  shewed  to  me  %% 

The  secret  of  your  mynde, 
I  shall  be  playne  to  you  agayne, 

Lyke  as  ye  shall  me  fynde. 
Syth  it  is  so,  that  ye  wyll  go, 

I  wolle  not  leve"^  behynde  ;  90 

Shall  never  be  sayd,  the  Not-browne  Mayd 

Was  to  her  love  unkynde : 
Make  you  redy,  for  so  am  I, 

Allthough  it  were  anone ; 
For,  in  my  mynde,  of  all  mankynde  95 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

He. 

Yet  I  you  rede''  to  take  good  hede 

What  men  wyll  thynke,  and  say : 
Of  yonge,  and  olde  it  shall  be  tolde, 

That  ye  be  gone  away,  im 

Your  wanton  wyll  for  to  fulfill. 

In  grene  wode  you  to  play ; 
And  that  ye  myght  from  your  delyght 

No  lenger  make  delay. 
Rather  than  ye  sholde  thus  for  me  105 

Be  called  an  yll  woman. 
Yet  wolde  I  to  the  grene  wode  go, 

Alone,  a  banyshed  man. 

t ■  ■•* 

Ver.  91.  Shall  it  never,  Prol.  and  Mr.  W.     V.  94.  Althought^ 
Mr.  W. 

[^  earnestly.  ^  remain.  ^  advise.] 


THE    NOT-BROWNE  MA  YD.       39 

She. 

Though  it  be  songe  of  old  and  yonge. 

That  I  sholde  be  to  blame,  no 

Theyrs  be  the  charge,  that  speke  so  large 

In  hurtynge  of  my  name: 
For  I  wyll  prove,  that  faythfulle  love 

It  is  devoyd  of  shame; 
In  your  dystresse,  and  hevynesse,  115 

To  part  with  you,  the  same  : 
And  sure  all  tho,^  that  do  not  so, 

True  lovers  are  they  none  ; 
For,  in  my  mynde,  of  all  mankynde 

I  love  but  you  alone.  lao 

T   T 

riE. 

I  counceyle  you,  remember  howe, 

It  is  no  maydens  lawe, 
Nothynge  to  dout,  but  to  renne^  out 

To  wode  with  an  outlawe : 
For  ye  must  there  in  your  hand  bere  js| 

A  bowe,  redy  to  drawe ; 
And,  as  a  thefe,  thus  must  you  lyve, 

Ever  in  drede  and  awe  ; 
Wherby  to  you  grete  harme  myght  growe : 

Yet  had  I  lever  than,^  is© 

That  I  had  to  the  grene  wode  go, 

Alone,  a  banyshed  man. 

She. 

I  thinke  nat  nay,  but  as  ye  say, 

It  is  no  maydens  lore  : 
But  love  may  make  me  for  your  sake,  \%$ 

As  I  have  sayd  before 

Ver.  117.  To  shewe  all,  FroL  and  Mr.  W.     V.  133.  I  say  nai^ 
FroL  and  Mr.  W. 

\}  those.  2  run.  ^  rather  then.] 


40       THE    NOT-BROWNE  MAYD, 

To  come  on  fote,  to  hunt,  and  shote 

To  gete  us  mete  in  store ; 
For  so  that  I  your  company 

May  have,  I  aske  no  more :  14© 

From  which  to  part,  it  maketh  my  hart 

As  colde  as  ony  stone  ; 
For,  in  my  mynde,  of  all  mankynde 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

He. 

For  an  outlawe  this  is  the  lawe,  145 

That  men  hym  take  and  bynde ; 
Without  pyte,  hanged  to  be, 

And  waver  with  the  wynde. 
If  I  had  nede,  (as  God  forbede !) 

What  rescous^  coude  ye  fynde  ?  150 

Forsoth,  I  trowe,  ye  and  your  bowe 

For  fere  wolde  drawe  behynde: 
And  no  mervayle ;  for  lytell  avayle 

Were  in  your  counceyle  than  : 
Wherfore  I  wyll  to  the  grene  wode  go,  155 

Alone,  a  banyshed  man. 

She. 

Ryght  wele  knowe  ye,  that  women  be 

But  feble  for  to  fyght ; 
No  womanhede  it  is  indede 

To  be  bolde  as  a  knyght :  t6o 

Yet,  in  such  fere  yf  that  ye  were 

With  enemyes  day  or  nyght, 
I  wolde  withstande,  with  bowe  in  hande, 

To  greve  them  as  I  myght, 


Ver.  138.  and  store,  Camb,,  copy.  V.  150.  succours,  ProL 
and  Mr.  W.  V.  162.  and  night,  Camb.  coj^y.  V.  164.  to  helpe 
ye  with  my  myght,  Pi^ol.  and  Mr.  W. 

\}  rescue.] 


THE    NOT^BROWNE    MA  YD,      41 

And  you  to  save  ;  as  women  have  165 

From  deth  '  men  '  many  one  : 
For,  In  my  mynde,  of  all  mankynde 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

He. 

Yet  take  good  hede ;  for  ever  I  drede 

That  ye  coude  nat  sustayne  170 

The  thornle  wayes,  the  depe  valeles, 

The  snowe,  the  frost,  the  rayne, 
The  colde,  the  hete  :  for  dry,  or  wete, 

We  must  lodge  on  the  playne ; 
And,  us  above,  none  other  rofe  17s 

But  a  brake  bush,  or  twayne  : 
Which  sone  sholde  greve  you,  I  beleve ; 

And  ye  wolde  gladly  than 
That  I  had  to  the  grene  wode  go, 

Alone,  a  banyshed  man.  «8o 

She. 

Syth  I  have  here  bene  partynere 

With  you  of  joy  and  blysse, 
I  must  also  parte  of  your  wo 

Endure,  as  reson  is  : 
Yet  am  I  sure  of  one  plesure  ;  i«5 

And,  shortely,  it  is  this : 
That,  where  ye  be,  me  semeth,  pard^, 

I  coude  nat  fare  amysse. 
Without  more  speche,  I  you  beseche 

That  we  were  sone  agone  ;  «9o 

For,  in  my  mynde,  of  all  mankynde 

I  love  but  you  alone. 


Ver.  172.  frost  and  rayne,  Mr.  W.      V.  174.  Ye  must,  FroL 
V.  190.  shortley  gone,  FroL  and  Mr.  W. 


d2       THE    NOT-BROWNE    MAYD. 

He. 
If  ye  go  thyder,  ye  must  consyder, 

Whan  ye  have  lust  to  dyne, 
There  shall  no  mete  be  for  you  gete,  19$ 

Nor  drinke,  here,  ale,  ne  wyne. 
No  shetds  clene,  to  lye  betwene, 

Made  of  threde  and  twyne  ; 
None  other  house,  but  leves  and  bowes, 

To  cover  your  hed  and  myne,  aoo 

O  myne  harte  swete,  this  evyll  dyete 

Sholde  make  you  pale  and  wan  ; 
Wherfore  I  wyll  to  the  grene  wode  go. 

Alone,  a  banyshed  man. 

She. 
Amonge  the  wylde  dere,  such  an  archere,       aos 

As  men  say  that  ye  be, 
Ne  may  nat  fayle  of  good  vitayle, 

Where  is  so  grete  plente : 
And  water  clere  of  the  ryvere 

Shall  be  full  swete  to  me  ;  %\o 

With  which  in  hele^  I  shall  ryght  wele 

Endure,  as  ye  shall  see ; 
And,  or  we  go,  a  bedde  or  two 

I  can  provyde  anone  ; 
For,  in  my  mynde,  of  all  mankynde  •!$ 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

He. 
Lo  yet,  before,  ye  must  do  more, 

Yf  ye  wyll  go  with  me  : 
As  cut  your  here  up  by  your  ere,"^ 

Your  kyrtel  by  the  kne  ;  aia 


Ver.  196.  Ncythcr  bere,  Prol.  and  Mr.  W.  V.  201.  Lo  myn, 
Mr.  W.  V.  207.  May  ye  nat  fayle,  Prol,  lb.  May  nat  fayle,  Mr. 
W.  V.  219.  above  your  ere,  Prol.  V.  220.  above  the  kne,  ProU 
and  Mr.  W. 

\}  health.  '-^  hair  up  by  your  ear.] 


THE    NOT-BROWNE    MAYD.       43 

With  bowe  in  hande,  for  to  withstande 

Your  enemyes,  yf  nede  be  : 
And  this  same  n)  ght  before  day-lyght, 

To  wode-warde  wyll  I  fle. 
Yf  that  ye  wyll  all  this  fulfill,  »t5 

Do  it  shortely  as  ye  can  ; 
Els  wyll  I  to  the  grene  wode  go, 

Alone,  a  banyshed  man. 

She. 

I  shall  as  nowe  do  more  for  you 

Than  longeth  to  womanhede  ;  130 

To  shorte  my  here,^  a  bowe  to  bere, 

To  shote  in  tyme  of  nede. 
O  my  swete  mother,  before  all  otJier 

For  you  I  have  most  drede  : 
But  nowe,  adue  !  I  must  ensue,^  %\% 

Where  fortune  doth  me  lede. 
All  this  make  ye  :  Now  let  us  fle  ; 

The  day  cometh  fast  upon  ; 
For,  in  my  mynde,  of  all  mankynde 

I  love  but  you  alone.  %^ 

He. 

Nay,  nay,  nat  so  ;  ye  shall  nat  go, 

And  I  shall  tell  ye  why, — 
Your  appetyght  is  to  be  lyght 

Of  love,  I  wele  espy  : 
For,  lyke  as  ye  have  sayed  to  me,  %\% 

In  lyke  wyse  hardely 
Ye  wolde  answ^re  whosoever  it  were. 

In  way  of  company. 


Ver.  223.  the  same,  ProL  and  Mr.  W. 
\}  shorten  my  hair.  ^  follow.] 


44       THE    NOT-BRO  WNE    MA  YD. 

It  is  sayd  of  olde,  Sone  hote,  sone  colde ; 

And  so  is  a  woman.  i|o 

Wherfore  I  to  the  wode  wyll  go, 

Alone,  a  banyshed  man. 

She. 

Yf  ye  take  hede,  it  is  no  nede 

Such  wordes  to  say  by  me  ; 
For  oft  ye  prayed,  and  longe  assayed,  255 

Or^  I  you  loved,  parde  '?" 
And  though  that  I  of  auncestry 

A  barons  daughter  be, 
Yet  have  you  proved  howe  I  you  loved 

A  squyer  of  lowe  degre  ;  260 

And  ever  shall,  whatso  befall ; 

To  dy  therfore*  anone ; 
For,  in  my  mynde,  of  all  mankynde 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

He. 

A  barons  chylde  to  be  begylde !  «45 

It  were  a  cursed  dede ; 
To  be  felawe  with  an  outlawe ! 

Almighty  God  forbede  ! 
Yet  beter  were,  the  pore  squyere 

Alone  to  forest  yede,^  %io 

Than  ye  sholde  say  another  day, 

That,  by  my  cursed  dede, 
Ye  were  betray'd  :  Wherfore,  good  mayd, 

The  best  rede"^  that  I  can, 
Is,  that  I  to  the  grene  wode  go,  475 

Alone,  a  banyshed  man. 

Ver.  251.  For  I  must  to  the  grene  wode  go,  Prol.  and  Mr.  W. 
'^-  ^53-  yet;  is,  Camb.  copy.  Perhaps  for  yt  is.  V.  262.  dy  with 
him,  Editor's  MS. 

*  /.  e.  for  this  cause  ;  tho'  I  were  to  die  for  having  loved  you. 

[*  ere.  ^  pa7'  Dieu.  ^  went.  *  advice.] 


THE    NOT-BROWNE    MA  YD.      45 

She. 
Whatever  befall,  I  never  shall 

Of  this  thyng  you  upbrayd  : 
But  yf  ye  go,  and  leve  me  so, 

Than  have  ye  me  betrayd.  s8» 

Remember  you  wele,  howe  that  ye  dele ; 

For,  yf  ye,  as  ye  sayd. 
Be  so  unkynde,  to  leve  behynde, 

Your  love,  the  Not-browne  Mayd, 
Trust  me  truly,  that  I  shall  dy  its 

Sone  after  ye  be  gone  ; 
For,  in  my  mynde,  of  all  mankynde 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

He. 

Yf  that  ye  went,  ye  sholde  repent ; 

For  in  the  forest  no  we  190- 

I  have  purvayed^  me  of  a  mayd, 

Whom  I  love  more  than  you ; 
Another  fayrere,  than  ever  ye  were, 

I  dare  it  wele  avowe ; 
And  of  you  bothe  eche  sholde  be  wrothe        295 

With  other,  as  I  trowe : 
It  were  myne  ese,  to  lyve  in  pese ; 

So  wyll  I,  yf  I  can  ; 
Wherfore  I  to  the  wode  wyll  go, 

Alone,  a  banyshed  man.  300 

She. 
Though  in  the  wode  I  undyrstode 

Ye  had  a  paramour, 
All  this  may  nought  remove  my  thought, 

But  that  I  wyll  be  your : 

Ver.  278.  outbrayd,  Frol.  and  Mr.  W.  V.  282.  ye  be  as, 
Frol.  and  Mr.  W.  V.  283.  Ye  were  unkynde  to  leve  me  behynde, 
Frol.  and  Mr.  W. 

[}  provided.] 


46       THE   NOT-BROWNE    MA  YD. 

And  she  shall  fynde  me  soft,  and  kynde,         305 

And  courteys  every  hour ; 
Glad  to  fulfyll  all  that  she  wyll 

Commaunde  me  to  my  power  : 
For  had  ye,  lo,  an  hundred  mo, 

*  Of  them  I  wolde  be  one  ; '  3m 

For,  in  my  mynde,  of  all  mankynde 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

He. 

Myne  owne  dere  love,  I  se  the  prove 

That  ye  be  kynde,  and  true ; 
Of  mayde,  and  wyfe,  in  all  my  lyfe,  315 

The  best  that  ever  I  knewe. 
Be  mery  and  glad,  be  no  more  sad, 

The  case  is  chaunged  newe ; 
For  it  were  ruthe,  that,  for  your  truthe. 

Ye  sholde  have  cause  to  rewe.  p» 

Be  nat  dismayed ;  whatsoever  I  sayd 

To  you,  whan  I  began ; 
I  wyll  nat  to  the  grene  wode  go, 

I  am  no  banyshed  man. 

She. 

These  tydings  be  more  gladd  to  me,  3*5 

Than  to  be  made  a  queue, 
Yf  I  were  sure  they  sholde  endure  : 

But  it  is  often  sene. 
Whan  men  wyll  breke  promyse,  they  speke 

The  word6s  on  the  splene/  330 

Ye  shape  some  wyle  me  to  begyle, 

And  stele  from  me,  I  wene : 


\ 


Ver.  310.  So  the  Editor's  MS.  All  the  printed  copies  read. 
Yet  wold  I  be  that  one.  V.  315.  of  all,  Frol.  and  Mr.  W. 
V.  325.  gladder,  Frol.  and  Mr.  W. 

[^  in  haste.] 


THE   NOT-BROWNE    MA  YD,       47 

Than,  were  the  case  worse  than  it  was, 

And  I  more  wo-begone  : 
For,  in  my  mynde,  of  all  mankynde  335 

I  love  but  you  alone. 

He. 
Ye  shall  nat  nede  further  to  drede ; 

I  wyll  nat  dysparage 
You,  (God  defend) !  syth  ye  descend 

Of  so  grete  a  lynage.  34« 

Nowe  undyrstande  ;  to  Westmarlande, 

Which  is  myne  herytage, 
I  wyll  you  brynge  ;  and  with  a  rynge, 

By  way  of  maryage 
I  wyll  you  take,  and  lady  make,  345 

As  shortely  as  I  can : 
Thus  have  you  won  an  erlys  son, 

And  not  a  banyshed  man. 

Author. 
Here  may  ye  se,  that  women  be 

In  love,  meke,  kynde,  and  stable ;  350 

Late^  never  man  reprove  them  than. 

Or  call  them  variable  ; 
But,  rather,  pray  God,  that  we  may 

To  them  be  comfortable ; 
Which  sometyme  proveth  such,  as  he  loveth,  355 

Yf  they  be  charytable. 
For  syth  men  wolde  that  women  sholde 

Be  meke  to  them  each  one ; 
Moche  more  ought  they  to  God  obey, 

And  serve  but  hym  alone.  360 

Ver.  340.  grete  lynyage,  F?'oL  and  Mr.  W.  V.  347.  Then  have, 
Prol.  V.  348.  And  no  banyshed,  Frol.  and  Mr.  W.  V.  352. 
This  line  wanting  in  Frol.  and  Mr.  W.  V.  355.  proved — loved, 
Frol.  and  Mr.  W.  lb.  as  loveth,  Camb.  V.  357.  Forsoth,  Frol. 
and  Mr.  W. 

[1  let.] 


48  A   BALET   BY    THE 

VII. 
A   BALET  BY   THE   EARL   RIVERS. 


'HE  amiable  light  in  which  the  character  of  Anthony 
Widville,  the  gallant  Earl  Rivers,  has  been  placed  by 
the  elegant  author  of  the  Catal.  of  Noble  Writers 
[Horace  Walpole],  interests  us  in  whatever  fell  from  his 
pen.  It  is  presumed,  therefore,  that  the  insertion  of  this  little 
sonnet  will  be  pardoned,  tho'  it  should  not  be  found  to  have  much 
poetical  merit.  It  is  the  only  original  poem  known  of  that  noble- 
man's ;  his  more  voluminous  works  being  only  translations.  And 
if  we  consider  that  it  was  written  during  his  cruel  confinement  in 
Pomfret  castle  a  short  time  before  his  execution  in  1483,  it  gives 
us  a  fine  picture  of  the  composure  and  steadiness  with  which  this 
stout  earl  beheld  his  approaching  fate. 

This  ballad  we  owe  to  Rouse,  a  contemporary  historian,  who 
seems  to  have  copied  it  from  the  earFs  own  handwriting.  "In 
tempore,"  says  this  writer,  "  incarcerationis  apud  Pontem-fractum 
edidit  unum  balet  in  anglicis,  ut  mihi  monstratum  est,  quod  subse- 
quitur  sub  his  verbis  :  Sum  what  musyng,  &c."  Rossi,  Hist.  8vo. 
2  ed.  p.  213.  In  Rouse  the  second  stanza,  &c.  is  imperfect,  but 
the  defects  are  here  supplied  from  a  more  perfect  copy  printed  in 
Ancient  Songs,  from  the  time  of  King  Henry  III.  to  the  Revolution, 
p.  87  [by  Joseph  Ritson]. 

This  little  piece,  which  perhaps  ought  rather  to  have  been 
printed  in  stanzas  of  eight  short  lines,  is  written  in  imitation  of  a 
poem  of  Chaucer's,  that  will  be  found  in  Urry's  ed.  1721,  p.  555, 
beginning  thus : 

"  Alone  walkyng,  In  thought  plainyng, 

And  sore  sighying,  All  desolate. 
My  remembrying  Of  my  livyng 

My  death  wishyng  Bothe  erly  and  late. 
Infortunate  Is  so  my  fate 

That  wote  ye  what,  Out  of  mesure 
My  fife  I  hate  ;  Thus  desperate 

In  such  pore  estate.  Doe  I  endure,"  &:c.* 

[•  See  Aldine  edition  of  Chaucer's  Poetical  Works,  ed.  Morris, 
vol.  vi.  p.  305.  We  ought,  perhaps,  to  read  "  attributed  to 
Chaucer."] 


EARL   RIVERS.  49 

[This  gallant  and  learned  nobleman  (brother  of  Edward 
IV.'s  queen),  who  was  murdered  in  the  forty-first  year  of  his 
age,  figures  as  a  character  in  Shakspere's  Richard  ///.,  and  as  a 
ghost  appears  to  warn  the  tyrant  on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Bos- 
worth  : 

"  Let  me  sit  heavy  on  thy  soul  to-morrow, 
Rivers  that  died  at  Pomfret !  despair  and  die."] 


UMWHAT  musyng,  And  more  mornyng', 
In  remembring  The  unstydfastnes ; 
This  world  being  Of  such  whelyng, 
Me  contrarieng,  What  may  I  gesse  ? 

I  fere  dowtles,  Remediles,  5 

Is  now  to  sese  My  wofull  chaunce. 

[For  unkyndness,  Withouten  less, 
And  no  redress,  Me  doth  avaunce, 


t» 


With  displesaunce,  To  my  grevaunce, 

And  no  suraunce  Of  remedy.] 
Lo  in  this  traunce,  Now  in  substaunce, 

Such  is  my  dawnce,  Wyllyng  to  dye. 

Me  thynkys  truly,  Bowndyn  am  I, 

And  that  gretly,  To  be  content : 
Seyng  playnly,  Fortune  doth  wry^  45 

All  contrary  From  myn  entent. 

My  lyff  was  lent  Me  to  on  intent, 

Hytt  is  ny'^  spent.     Welcome  fortune! 

But  I  ne  went  Thus  to  be  shent,^ 

But  sho*  hit  ment ;  Such  is  hur  won.*  ao 


Ver.  15.  That  fortune,  Rossi,  Hist.     V.  19.  went,  i.e.  weened, 

S}  turn  aside.  ^  it  is  near.  '  abashed. 

*  she.  *  wont  or  custom.] 

2  K 


so  CUPID'S   ASSAULT: 


VIII. 
CUPID'S  ASSAULT  :  BY  LORD  VAUX. 

'HE  reader  will  think  that  infant  poetry  grew  apace  be- 
tween the  times  of  Rivers  and  Vaux,  tho'  nearly  con- 
^^^^  temporaries ;  if  the  following  song  is  the  composition  of 
that  Sir  Nicholas  (afterwards  Lord)  Vaux,  who  was  the 
shining  ornament  of  the  court  of  Henry  VII.,  and  died  in  the  year 
1523  [1524,  see  below]. 

And  yet  to  this  lord  it  is  attributed  by  Puttenham  in  his  Art  of 
Eng.  Poesie,  1589,  4to.,  a  writer  commonly  well  informed.  Take 
the  passage  at  large  :  *'  In  this  figure  [Counterfait  Action]  the  Lord 
Nicholas  Vaux,  a  noble  gentleman  and  much  delighted  in  vulgar 
making,  and  a  man  otherwise  of  no  great  learning,  but  having 
herein  a  marvelous  facihtie,  made  a  dittie  representing  the  Battayle 
and  Assault  of  Cupide,  so  excellently  well,  as  for  the  gallant  and 
propre  application  of  his  fiction  in  every  part,  I  cannot  choose  but 
set  downe  the  greatest  part  of  his  ditty,  for  in  truth  it  cannot  be 
amended.  When  Cupid  Scaled^'  &c.  p.  200.  For  a  farther  ac- 
count of  Nicholas,  Lord  Vaux,  see  Mr.  Walpole's  Noble  Authors, 
vol.  i. 

Since  this  song  was  first  printed  off,  reasons  have  occurred  which 
incline  me  to  believe  that  Lord  Vaux,  the  poet,  was  not  the  Lord 
Nicholas  Vaux  who  died  in  1523,  but  rather  a  successor  of  his  in 
the  title.  For,  in  the  first  place,  it  is  remarkable  that  all  the  old 
writers  mention  Lord  Vaux,  the  poet,  as  contemporary,  or  rather 
posterior,  to  Sir  Thomas  Wyat  and  the  E.  of  Surrey,  neither  of 
which  made  any  figure  till  long  after  the  death  of  the  first  Lord 
Nicholas  Vaux.  Thus  Puttenham,  in  his  Art  of  English  Pocsie, 
1589,  in  p.  48,  having  named  Skelton,  adds  :  ''In  the  latter  end 
of  the  same  kings  raigne  [Henry  VI 1 1.]  sprong  up  a  new  company 
of  courtly  Makers  [Poets],  of  whom  Sir  Thomas  Wyat  th'  elder, 
and  Henry  Earl  of  Surrey  were  the  two  chieftaines,  who  having 
travailed  into  Italic,  and  there  tasted  the  sweet  and  stately  mea- 
sures and  stile  of  the  Italian  poesie  .  .  .  greatly  polished  our 
rude  and  homely  manner  of  vulgar  poesie  ...  In  the  same  time, 
or  not  long  after,  was  the  Lord  Nicholas  Vaux,  a  man  of  much 
faciUtie  in  vulgar  makings."*     Webbe,  in  his  Discourse  of  English 

J 

*  i.e.  Compositions  in  English. 


BV  LORD    VAUX.  51 

Poetrte,  1586,  ranges  them  in  the  following  order:  **The  E.  of 
Surrey,  the  Lord  Vaux,  Norton,  Bristow."  And  Gascoigne,  in  the 
place  quoted  in  the  first  volume  of  this  work  [B.  ii.  No.  2.]  men- 
tions Lord  Vaux  after  Surrey.  Again,  the  stile  and  measure  of 
Lord  Vaux's  pieces  seem  too  refined  and  polished  for  the  age  of 
Henry  VII.,  and  rather  resemble  the  smoothness  and  harmony  of 
Surrey  and  Wyat,  than  the  rude  metre  of  Skelton  and  Hawes. 
But  what  puts  the  matter  out  of  all  doubt,  in  the  British  Museum 
is  a  copy  of  his  poem,  /  lothe  that  I  did  love  [vid.  vol.  i.  ubi  supra], 
with  this  title,  "  A  dyttye  or  sonet  made  by  the  Lord  Vaus,  in  the 
time  of  the  noble  Quene  Marye,  representing  the  image  of  Death." 
Harl.  MSS.  No.  1703,  sec.  25. 

It  is  evident  then  that  Lord  Vaux,  the  poet,  was  not  he  that 
flourished  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIL,  but  either  his  son  or  grand- 
son; and  yet,  according  to  Dugdale's  Baronage,  the  former  was 
named  Thomas  and  the  latter  William :  but  this  difficulty  is  not 
great,  for  none  of  the  old  writers  mention  the  Christian  name  of 
the  poetic  Lord  Vaux,*  except  Puttenham ;  and  it  is  more  likely 
that  he  might  be  mistaken  in  that  lord's  name,  than  in  the  time  in 
which  he  lived,  who  was  so  nearly  his  contemporary. 

Thomas,  Lord  Vaux,  of  Harrowden,  in  Northamptonshire,  was 
summoned  to  parliament  in  1531.  When  he  died  does  not  ap- 
pear, but  he  probably  lived  till  the  latter  end  of  Queen  Mary's 
reign,  since  his  son  William  was  not  summoned  to  parliament  till 
the  last  year  of  that  reign,  in  1558.  This  lord  died  in  1595.  See 
Dugdale,  vol.  ii.  p.  304.  Upon  the  whole  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
that  Lord  Thomas  was  the  poet. 

The  following  copy  is  printed  from  the  first  edition  of  Surrey's 
Poems,  1557^  4to.  See  another  song  of  Lord  Vaux's  in  the  pre- 
ceding volume,  B.  ii.  No.  2. 

[Percy  is  correct  in  his  supposition  that  the  poet  was  Thomas, 
second  Lord  Vaux,  and  not  his  father  Nicholas,  who  died  May 
14th,  1524,  only  seventeen  days  after  he  was  advanced  to  the 
peerage=] 


*  In  the  Paradise  of  Dainty  Devises,  1596,  he  is  called  simply 
*'  Lord  Vaux  the  elder.'* 


CUPID'S    ASSAULT: 


HEN  Cupide  scaled  first  the  fort, 

Wherein  my  hart  lay  wounded  sore ; 
The  batry  was  of  such  a  sort, 

That  I  must  yelde  or  die  therfore. 

There  sawe  I  Love  upon  the  wall,  5 

How  he  his  banner  did  display ; 
Alarme,  alarme,  he  gan  to  call  : 

And  bad  his  souldiours  kepe  aray. 

The  armes,  the  which  that  Cupide  bare, 

Were  pearced  hartes  with  teares  besprent,^       10 

In  silver  and  sable  to  declare 

The  stedfast  love,  he  alwayes  ment. 

There  might  you  se  his  band  all  drest 

In  colours  like  to  white  and  blacke, 
With  powder  and  with  pelletes  prest  is 

To  bring  the  fort  to  spoile  and  sacke. 

Good-wyll,  the  maister  of  the  shot, 

Stode  in  the  rampire^  brave  and  proude, 

For  spence^  of  pouder  he  spared  not 

Assault !  assault !  to  crye  aloude.  10 

There  might  you  heare  the  cannons  rore  ; 

Eche  pece  discharged  a  lovers  loke  ; 
Which  had  the  power  to  rent,  and  tore 

In  any  place  whereas  they  toke. 

And  even  with  the  trumpettes  sowne*  *.?. 

The  scaling  ladders  were  up  set, 
And  Beautie  walked  up  and  downe, 

With  bow  in  hand,  and  arrowes  whet. 


\}  besprinkled.         ^  rampart         ^  expense.         "*  sound. 


BY  LORD    VAUX.  53 

Then  first  Desire  began  to  scale, 

And  shrouded  him  under  *  his'  targe  ;^  30 

As  one  the  worthiest  of  them  all, 

And  aptest  for  to  geve  the  charge. 

Then  pushed  souldiers  with  their  pikes, 
And  halberdes  with  handy  strokes  ; 

The  argabushe^  in  fleshe  it  lightes,  35 

And  duns  the  ayre  with-  misty  smokes. 

And,  as  it  is  the  souldiers  use 

When  shot  and  powder  gins  to  want, 

I  hanged  up  my  flagge  of  truce, 

And  pleaded  up  for  my  lives  grant.  f«» 

When  Fansy  thus  had  made  her  breche, 

And  Beauty  entred  with  her  band. 
With  bagge  and  baggage,  sely^  wretch, 

I  yelded  into  Beauties  hand. 

Then  Beautie  bad  to  blow  retrete,  45: 

And  every  souldier  to  retire, 
And  mercy  wyll'd  with  spede  to  set 

Me  captive  bound  as  prisoner. 

Madame,  quoth  I,  sith  that  this  day 

Hath  served  you  at  all  assay es,  jo 

I  yeld  to  you  without  delay 

Here  of  the  fortresse  all  the  kayes. 

And  sith  that  I  have  ben  the  marke. 
At  whom  you  shot  at  with  your  eye ; 

Kedes  must  you  with  your  handy  warke,  $% 

Or  salve  my  sore,  or  let  me  die. 


Ver.  30.  her,  ed.  1557,  so  ed.  1585, 
]}  shield.       2  harquebuss,  or  old-fashioned  musket       *  simple.] 


54  SIR    ALDINGAR. 


IX. 

SIR    ALDINGAR. 

*HIS  old  fabulous  legend  is  given  from  the  Editor's  folio 
MS.  with  conjectural  emendations,  and  the  insertion  of 
some  additional  stanzas  to  supply  and  compleat  the 
story. 

It  has  been  suggested  to  the  Editor  that  the  author  of  this  poem 
seems  to  have  had  in  his  eye  the  story  of  Gunhilda,  who  is  some- 
times called  Eleanor,  and  was  married  to  the  Emperor  (here  called 
King)  Henry. 

[Percy's  MS.  note  in  his  folio  is  as  follows :  "  Without  some 
corrections  this  will  not  do  for  my  Reliquesr  Readers  will  be  able 
to  judge  for  themselves  as  to  the  relative  beauties  of  the  two,  now 
that  the  original  is  printed  at  the  end  of  Percy's  amended  copy. 
To  make  the  interpolations  more  apparent,  Percy's  added  verses 
are  placed  between  brackets,  and  it  will  be  seen  that  these  contain 
much  of  the  phraseology  and  many  of  the  stock  prettinesses  of  the 
polite  ballad-monger ;  some  of  the  most  vivid  bits  of  the  old  ballad 
being  passed  over.  Percy  keeps  tolerably  to  the  story,  except 
that  he  makes  the  second  messenger  one  of  the  queen's  damsels 
instead  of  a  man.  Sir  Walter  Scott  supposes  Sir  Aldingar  to  be 
founded  upon  the  kindred  ballad  of  Sir  Hugh  le  Blond,  but,  as 
Professor  Child  says,  without  any  reason.  The  story  occurs  in 
most  of  the  literatures  of  Europe.] 


UR  king  he  kept  a  false  stewarde, 
Sir  Aldingar  they  him  call ; 
[A  falser  steward  than  he  was  one, 
Servde  not  in  bower  nor  hall.] 

He  wolde  have  layne  by  our  comelye  queene, 
Her  deere  worshippe  to  betraye  : 

Our  queene  she  was  a  good  woman, 
And  evermore  said  him  naye. 


SIR    ALDINGAR.  55 

Sir  Aldingar  was  wrothe  in  his  mind, 

With  her  hee  was  never  content,  _  ■  10 

[Till  traiterous  meanes  he  colde  devyse,  j 

In  a  fyer  to  have  her  brent. ^ 

There  came  a  lazaP  to  the  kings  gate, 

A  lazar  both  blinde  and  lame  : 
He  tooke  the  lazar  upon  his  backe,  »> 

Him  on  the  queenes  bed  has  layne. 

"  Lye  still,  lazar,  wheras  thou  lyest, 

Looke  thou  goe  not  hence  away  ; 
ile  make  thee  a  whole  man  and  a  sound 

In  two  howers  of  the  day."  *  »o 

Then  went  him  forth  sir  Aldingar, 

[And  hyed  him  to  our  king  :] 
**  If  I  might  have  grace,  as  I  have  space, 

['*  Sad  tydings  I  could  bring."] 

Say  on,  say  on,  sir  Aldingar,  »s 

Saye  on  the  soothe^  to  mee. 
**  Our  queene  hath  chosen  a  new  new  love. 

And  shee  will  have  none  of  thee. 

"If  shee  had  chosen  a  right  good  knight, 

The  lesse  had  beene  her  shame  ;  3» 

But  she  hath  chose  her  a  lazar  man, 
A  lazar  both  blinde  and  lame." 

If  this  be  true,  thou  Aldingar, 

The  tyding  thou  tellest  to  me. 
Then  will  I  make  the  a  rich  rich  knight,  35 

Rich  both  of  golde  and  fee. 

*  He  probably  insinuates  that  the  king  should  heal  him  by  his 
power  of  touching  for  the  king's  evil. 

\}  burnt.  2  leper.  ^  truth.] 


56  S/7^    ALDINGAR. 

But  if  it  be  false,  sir  Aldingar, 

[As  God  nowe  grant  it  bee! 
Thy  body,  I  sweare  by  the  holye  rood,] 

Shall  hang  on  the  gallows  tree.  •    40 

[He  brought  our  king  to  the  queenes  chamber, 

And  opend  to  him  the  dore.] 
A  lodlye^  love,  king  Harry  says, 

For  our  queene  dame  Elinore  ! 

If  thou  were  a  man,  as  thou  art  none,  45 

[Here  on  my  sword  thoust  dye  ;] 
But  a  payre  of  new  gallowes  shall  be  built, 

And  there  shalt  thou  hang  on  hye. 

[Forth  then  hyed  our  king,  I  wysse, 

And  an  angry  man  was  hee  ;  50 

And  soone  he  found  queene  Elinore, 

That  bride  so  bright  of  blee.'"^] 

Now  God  you  save,  our  queene,  madame, 

And  Christ  you  save  and  see; 
Heere  you  have  chosen  a  newe  newe  love,  55 

And  you  will  have  none  of  mee. 

If  you  had  chosen  a  right  good  knight, 

The  lesse  had  been  your  shame  : 
But  you  have  chose  you  a  lazar  man, 

A  lazar  both  blinde  and  lame.  60 

[Therfore  a  fyer  there  shall  be  built. 

And  brent  all  shalt  thou  bee. ] 

"  Now  out  alacke  !"  said  our  comly  queene, 

**Sir  Aldingar's  false  to  mee. 

Now  out  alacke  ! "  sayd  our  comlye  queene,  65 

[My  heart  with  griefe  will  brast.'^] 
I  had  thought  swevens*  had  never  been  true  , 

I  have  proved  them  true  at  last. 


['  loathsome.  ^  complexion.  ^  burst.  ^  dreams.] 


5/7?    ALDINGAR. 


57 


I  dreamt  in  my  sweven  on  thursday  eve, 

In  my  bed  wheras  I  laye, 
I  dreamt  a  grype^  and  a  grimlie  beast 

Had  carryed  my  crowne  awaye  ; 

My  gorgett^  and  my  kirtle^  of  golde, 
And  all  my  faire  head-geere  : 

And  he  wold  worrye  me  with  his  tush* 
And  to  his  nest  y-beare : 


70 


vs 


Saving  there  came  a  litle  '  gray '  hawke, 

A  merlin  him  they  call, 
Which  untill  the  grounde  did  strike  the  grype, 

That  dead  he  downe  did  fall.  So 

Giffe^  I  were  a  man,  as  now  I  am  none, 

A  battell  wold  I  prove, 
To  fight  with  that  traitor  Aldingar ; 

Att  him  I  cast  my  glove. 

But  seeing  I  me  able  noe  battell  to  make,  85 

My  liege,  grant  me  a  knight 
To  fight  with  that  traitor  sir  Aldingar, 

To  maintaine  me  in  my  right." 

"  Now  forty  dayes  I  will  give  thee 

To  seeke  thee  a  knight  therin  :  90 

If  thou  find  not  a  knight  in  forty  dayes 

Thy  bodye  it  must  brenn." 

[Then  shee  sent  east,  and  shee  sent  west, 

By  north  and  south  bedeene  '? 
But  never  a  champion  colde  she  find,]  95 

Wolde  fight  with  that  knight  soe  keene. 


Ver.  77.  see  below,  v.  137. 


P  griffin. 
*  tooth. 


2  neckerchief. 
«  if. 


®  petticoat. 

^  immediately.] 


58  SIR    ALDINGAR, 

[Now  twenty  dayes  were  spent  and  gone, 

Noe  helpe  there  might  be  had  ; 
Many  a  teare  shed  our  comelye  queene 

And  aye  her  hart  was  sad.  loo 

Then  came  one  of  the  queenes  damselles, 

And  knelt  upon  her  knee, 
"  Cheare  up,  cheare  up,  my  gracious  dame, 

I  trust  yet  helpe  may  be : 

"  And  here  I  will  make  mine  avowe,^  105 

And  with  the  same  me  binde ; 
That  never  will  I  return  to  thee, 

Till  I  some  helpe  may  finde." 

Then  forth  she  rode  on  a  faire  palfraye 

Oer  hill  and  dale  about :  no 

But  never  a  champion  colde  she  finde, 
Wolde  iighte  with  that  knight  so  stout. 

And  nowe  the  daye  drewe  on  a  pace. 

When  our  good  queene  must  dye  ; 
All  woe-begone  was  that  faire  damselle,  115 

When  she  found  no  helpe  w^as  nye. 

All  woe-begone  was  that  faire  damselle, 
And  the  salt  teares  fell  from  her  eye  :] 

When  lo  !  as  she  rode  by  a  rivers  side, 

She  met  with  a  tinye  boye.  i»o 

[A  tinye  boye  she  mette,  God  wot, 

All  clad  in  mantle  of  golde  ;] 
He  seemed  noe  more  in  mans  likenesse. 

Then  a  childe  of  four  yeere  olde. 

[Why  grieve  you,  damselle  faire,  he  sayd,  las 

And  what  doth  cause  you  moane  ? 
The  damsell  scant  wolde  deigne  a  looke. 

But  fast  she  pricked  on.] 

['  vow  or  oatli.] 


SIR    ALDINGAR,  59 

Yet  turn  agalne,  thou  faire  damselle, 

And  greete  thy  queene  from  mee  :  130 

When  bale^  is  att  hyest,  boote'^  is  nyest, 

Nowe  heipe  enoughe  may  bee. 

Bid  her  remember  what  she  dreamt 

In  her  bedd,  wheras  shee  laye ; 
How  when  the  grype  and  the  grimly  beast         135 

Wolde  have  carried  her  crowne  awaye, 

Even  then  there  came  the  Htle  gray  hawke, 

And  saved  her  from  his  clawes : 
Then  bidd  the  queene  be  merry  at  hart, 

[For  heaven  will  fende^  her  cause.]  140 

Back  then  rode  that  faire  damselle, 

And  her  hart  it  lept  for  glee  : 
And  when  she  told  her  gracious  dame 

A  gladd  woman  then  was  shee. 

[But  when  the  appointed  day  was  come,  145 

No  helpe  appeared  nye  : 
Then  woeful,  woeful  was  her  hart, 

And  the  teares  stood  in  her  eye. 

And  nowe  a  fyer  was  built  of  wood ; 

And  a  stake  was  made  of  tree  ;  15^* 

And  now  queene  Elinor  forth  was  led, 

A  sorrowful  sig^ht  to  see. 

Three  times  the  herault  he  waved  his  hand, 

And  three  times  spake  on  hye  : 
Giff  any  good  knight  will  fende  this  dame,  155 

Come  forth,  or  she  must  dye. 

No  knight  stood  forth,  no  knight  there  came, 

No  helpe  appeared  nye  : 
And  now  the  fyer  was  lighted  up, 

Queen  Elinor  she  must  dye.  160 

P  evil.  2  help.  ^  defend.] 


6o  S/7^    ALDINGAR. 

And  now  the  fyer  was  lighted  up, 

As  hot  as  hot  might  bee ;] 
When  riding  upon  a  Httle  white  steed, 

The  tinye  boy  they  see. 

"Away  with  that  stake,  away  with  those  brands,  165 

And  loose  our  comelye  queene : 
I  am  come  to  fight  with  sir  Aldingar, 

And  prove  him  a  traitor  keene." 

Forthe  then  stood  sir  Aldingar, 

But  when  he  saw  the  chylde,  170 

He  laughed,  and  scoffed,  and  turned  his  backe, 

And  weened^  he  had  been  beguylde. 

"  Now  turne,  now  turne  thee,  Aldingar, 

And  eyther  fighte  or  flee  ; 
I  trust  that  I  shall  avenge  the  wronge,  175 

Thoughe  I  am  so  small  to  see." 

The  boye  pulld  forth  a  well  good  sworde 

So  gilt  it  dazzled  the  ee  ; 
The  first  stroke  stricken  at  Aldingar 

Smote  off  his  leggs  by  the  knee.  i8o 

"  Stand  up,  stand  up,  thou  false  traitor, 

And  fight  upon  thy  feete, 
For  and  thou  thrive,  as  thou  begin  st, 

Of  height  wee  shall  be  meete." 

A  priest,  a  priest,  sayes  Aldingar,  ijjs 

While  I  am  a  man  alive. 
A  priest,  a  priest,  sayes  Aldingar, 

Me  for  to  houzle  and  shrive."'^ 

I  wolde  have  laine  by  our  comlie  queene, 

Bot  shee  wolde  never  consent ;  190 

Then  I  thought  to  betraye  her  unto  our  kinge 
In  a  fyer  to  have  her  brent. 

[*  supposed.  ^  to  give  the  sacrament  and  to  confess.] 


S/J^    ALDINGAR,  6i 

There  came  a  lazar  to  the  kings  gates, 

A  lazar  both  bHnd  and  lame  : 
I  tooke  the  lazar  upon  my  backe,  195 

And  on  her  bedd  had  him  layne. 

[Then  ranne  I  to  our  comlye  king, 

These  tidings  sore  to  tell.] 
But  ever  alacke  !  sayes  Aldingar, 

Falsing  never  doth  well.  soo 

Forgive,  forgive  me,  queene,  madame, 

The  short  time  I  must  live. 
"  Nowe  Christ  forgive  thee,  Aldingar, 

As  freely  I  forgive." 

Here  take  thy  queene,  our  king  Harrye,  105 

And  love  her  as  thy  life, 
[For  never  had  a  king  in  Christentye, 

A  truer  and  fairer  wife. 

King  Henrye  ran  to  claspe  his  queene. 

And  loosed  her  full  sone  :  sio 

Then  turnd  to  look  for  the  tinye  boye  ; 
The  boye  was  vanisht  and  gone. 

But  first  he  had  touchd  the  lazar  man. 

And  stroakt  him  with  his  hand  : 
The  lazar  under  the  galJowes  tree  215 

All  whole  and  sounde  did  stand.] 

The  lazar  under  the  gallowes  tree 

Was  comelye,  straight  and  tall ; 
King  Henrye  made  him  his  head  stewarde 

To  wayte  withinn  his  hall.  220 

J/HE  following  is  the  original  version  from  the  folio  MS, 
^  reprinted  from  Hales  and  Furnivall's  ed.  vol.  i.  p.  166: 


Our  king  he  kept  a  ffalse  steward, 
men  called  him  Sir  Aldingar 


62  SIR    ALDINGAR. 

he  wold  haue  layen  by  our  comely  queene, 

her  deere  worshipp  to  haue  betraide.  4 

our  queene  shee  was  a  good  woman, 

&  euer  more  said  him  nay. 

Aldingar  was  offended  in  his  mind, 

with  her  hee  was  neuer  content,  % 

but  he  sought  what  meanes  he  cold'  find  out, 

in  a  fyer  to  haue  her  brent. 

There  came  a  lame  lazer  to  the  Kings  gates, 

a  lazer  was  [b]lind  &  lame  ;  la 

he  tooke  the  lazer  vpon  his  backe, 

vpon  the  queenes  bed  he  did  him  lay : 

he  said,  "  lye  still,  lazer,  wheras  thou  lyest, 

looke  thou  goe  not  away,  16 

He  make  thee  a  whole  man  &  a  sound 

in  2  howres  of  a  day." 

&  then  went  forth  Sir  Aldingar 

our  Queene  for  to  betray,  so 

and  then  he  mett  with  our  comlye  King, 

sales,  "  god  you  saue  &  see ! 

"  If  I  had  space  as  I  haue  grace, 

A  message  I  wold  say  to  thee.'*  24 

"  Say  on,  say  on,  Sir  Aldingar, 

say  thou  on  and  vnto  me." 


« 


I  can  let  you  now  see  one  of  [the]  greiuos[est]  sights 
that  euer  Christen  King  did  see :  28 

Our  Queene  hath  chosen  a  New  New  loue, 
She  will  haue  none  of  thee  j 

"  If  shee  had  chosen  a  right  good  Knight, 

the  lesse  had  beene  her  shame,  3t 

but  she  hath  chosen  a  Lazar  man 

which  is  both  blinde  &  lame." 

"  If  this  be  true,  thou  Aldingar, 

that  thou  dost  tell  to  me,  36 

then  will  I  make  thee  a  rich  Knight 

both  of  gold  and  fee  ; 

**  But  if  it  be  false,  Sir  Aldingar, 

that  thou  doest  tell  to  me,  40 

then  looke  for  noe  other  death 

but  to  be  hangd  on  a  tree. 


S/J^    ALDINGAR.  63 

goe  with  me,"  saide  our  comly  king, 

"  this  Lazar  for  to  see."  44 

When  the  King  he  came  into  the  queenes  chamber, 

standing  her  bed  befor, 
"  there  is  a  lodly  lome,"  says  Harry  King 

"for  our  dame  Queene  Elinor !  48 

"  If  thou  were  a  man,  as  thou  art  none, 

here  thou  sholdest  be  slaine ; 
but  a  paire  of  new  gallowes  shall  be  biil[t] 

thoust  hang  on  them  soe  hye  ;  52 

"  and  fayre  fyer  there  shalbe  bett, 

and  brent  our  Queene  shal  bee/' 
fforth  then  walked  our  comlye  King, 

&  mett  with  our  comly  Queene,  56 

saies,  "  God  you  saue,  our  Queene,  Madam, 

and  Christ  you  saue  &  see  ! 
heere  you  [haue]  chosen  a  new  new  loue, 

and  you  will  haue  none  of  mee.  60 

"  If  you  had  chosen  a  right  good  Knight 

the  lesse  he  beene  your  shame, 
but  you  haue  chosen  a  lazar  man 

that  is  both  blind  &  lame."  6^ 

**  Euer  alacke  ! "  said  our  comly  Queene, 

"  Sir  Aldingar  is  false  to  mee  ; 
but  euer  alacke  ! "  said  our  comly  Queene, 

*'  Euer  alas,  &  woe  is  mee  !  h% 

"  I  had  thought  sweuens  had  neuer  been  true ; 

I  haue  prooued  them  true  at  the  last ; 
I  dreamed  in  my  sweauen  on  thursday  at  eueninge 

in  my  bed  wheras  I  lay,  7a 

"  I  dreamed  the  grype  &  a  grimlie  beast 

had  carryed  my  crowne  away, 
my  gorgett  &  my  kirtle  of  golde, 

and  all  my  faire  heade  geere ;  76 

"  How  he  wold  haue  worryed  me  with  his  tush 

&  borne  me  into  his  nest, 
saving  there  came  a  litle  hawk 

flying  out  of  the  East,  80 


] 


64  SIR    ALDINGAR. 

"  saving  there  came  a  litle  Hawke 

which  men  call  a  Merlion, 
vntill  the  ground  he  stroke  him  downe, 

that  dead  he  did  fall  downe.  J4 

*'  gifFe  I  were  a  man,  as  I  am  none, 

a  battell  I  would  proue, 
I  wold  fight  with  that  false  traitor; 

att  him  I  cast  my  gloue  !  %% 

"  Seing  I  am  able  noe  battell  to  make, 

you  must  grant  me,  my  leege,  a  Knight 
to  fight  with  that  traitor.  Sir  Aldingar, 

to  maintaine  me  in  my  right."  9a 

"  He  giue  thee  40  dayes,"  said  our  King, 

"  to  seeke  thee  a  man  therin ; 
if  thou  find  not  a  man  in  40  dayes, 

in  a  hott  fyer  thou  shall  brenn."  96 

Our  Queene  sent  forth  a  Messenger, 

he  rode  fast  into  the  south, 
he  rode  the  countryes  through  &  through, 

soe  ffar  vnto  Portsmouth  ;  100 

he  cold  find  never  a  man  in  the  south  country 
that  wold  fight  with  the  knight  soe  keene. 

the  second  messenger  the  Queen  forth  sent, 

rode  far  into  the  east,  104 

but — blessed  be  God  made  sunn  and  moone  1— 

he  sped  then  all  of  the  best : 

as  he  rode  then  by  one  riuer  side, 

there  he  mett  with  a  litle  child,  108 

he  seemed  noe  more  in  a  mans  likenesse 

then  a  child  of  4  yeeres  old ; 

He  askt  the  Queenes  Messenger  how  far  he  rode : 

loth  he  was  him  to  tell ;  1 1* 

the  litle  one  was  offended  att  him, 
bid  him  adew,  farwell ! 

Said,  "  turne  thou  againc,  thou  messenger, 

grccte  our  Queene  well  from  me;  116 

when  Bale  is  att  hyest,  bootc  is  att  next, 

helpe  enough  there  may  bee  I 


SI 7^    ALDINGAR.  65 

"  bid  our  queene  rememb(;r  what  she  did  dreame 

in  her  bedd  wheras  shee  lay;  lao 

shee  dreamed  the  grype  &  the  grimly  beast 
had  carryed  her  crowne  away, 

*'  her  gorgett  &  her  kirt[l]e  of  gold, 

alsoe  her  faire  head  geere,  124 

he  wold  have  werryed  her  with  his  tushe 

(Sc  borne  her  into  her  nest, 

"  Saving  there  came  a  litle  hawke — 

men  call  him  a  merlyon —  l^% 

vntill  the  ground  he  did  strike  him  downe, 

that  dead  he  did  ffall  downe. 

*'  bidd  the  queene  be  merry  att  her  hart, 

euermore  light  &  glad,  132 

when  bale  is  att  hyest,  boote  is  at  next, 

helpe  enoughe  there  shalbe  [had."] 

then  the  Queenes  Messenger  rode  backe, 

a  gladed  man  then  was  hee  ;  136 

when  he  came  before  our  Queene, 

a  gladd  woman  then  was  shee ; 

shee  gaue  the  Messenger  20"  : 

O  lord,  in  gold  &  ffee,  140 

saies,  ''  spend  &  spare  not  while  this  doth  last, 

then  feitch  thou  more  of  me." 

Our  Queene  was  put  in  a  tunne  to  bume, 

She  thought  no  thing  but  death  ;  144 

the  were  ware  of  the  litle  one 

came  ryding  forth  of  the  East 

with  a  Mu  {line  cut  away)  ... 

a  louche  child  was  hee  :  148 

when  he  came  to  that  fier, 

he  light  the  Queene  full  nigh ; 

said,  "  draw  away  these  brands  of  fire 

lie  burning  before  our  Queene,  iqt 

k.  feitch  me  hither  Sir  Aldingar 

that  is  a  knight  soe  keene.*' 

When  Aldingar  see  that  litle  one, 

ffull  litle  of  him  hee  thought,  i$4 

if  there  had  beene  halfe  a  100  such, 

of  them  he  wold  not  haue  wrought. 
2  F 


66  SIR    ALDINGAR, 

hee  sayd,  "come  hither  Sir  Aldingar, 

thou  see-must  as  bigge  as  a  ffooder  !  i6o 

I  trust  to  god,  ere  I  haue  done  with  thee, 

God  will  send  to  vs  anger." 

saies,  "  the  first  stroke  thats  giuen,  Sir  Aldingar, 

I  will  giue  vnto  thee,  164 

&  if  the  second  giue  thou  may, 
looke  then  thou  spare  not  mee." 

^e  litle  one  pulld  forth  a  well  good  sword, 

I-wis  itt  was  all  of  guilt,  168 

it  cast  light  there  over  that  feild, 

it  shone  soe  all  of  guilt : 

he  stroke  the  first  stroke  att  Aldingar, 

he  stroke  away  his  leggs  by  his  knee,  17a 

sayes,  "  stand  vp,  stand  vp,  thou  false  traitor, 

&  fight  vpon  thy  feete  ! 
"  for  &  thou  thriue  as  thou  begins, 

of  a  height  wee  shalbe  meete."  176 

"  A  preist,  a  preist  L"  sayes  Aldingar, 

"  me  for  to  houzle  &  shriue  ! 
A  preist,  a  preist,"  sayes  Aldingar, 

"  while  I  am  a  man  lining  a-liue  !  180 

*'  I  wold  haue  laine  by  our  comlie  Queene ; 

to  it  shee  wold  neuer  consent ; 
I  thought  to  haue  betrayed  her  to  our  King, 

in  a  fyer  to  haue  had  her  brent ;  1 84 

"  there  came  a  lame  lazer  to  the  Kings  gates, 
a  lazar  both  blind  &  lame ; 

"  I  tooke  the  lazar  vpon  my  backe, 

in  the  Queenes  bed  I  did  him  lay,  188 

I  bad  him  *  lie  still,  Lazar,  where  he  lay, 

looke  he  went  not  away, 
I  wold  make  him  a  whole  man  &  a  sound 

in  2  houres  of  a  day.'  192 

*'  euer  alacke  ! "  sayes  Sir  Aldingar, 
"  falsing  neuer  doth  well ; 

•**  forgiue,  forgiue  me,  Queene,  Madam  ! 

for  Christs  loue  forgiue  mc  !"  196 

•*  God  forgaue  his  death,  Aldingar, 

&  freely  I  forgiue  thee." 


SIR    ALDINGAR.  67 

"  Now  take  thy  wife,  thou  K[ing]  Harry, 

&  loue  her  as  thou  shold ;  aoo 

thy  wiffe  shee  is  a[s]  true  to  thee 

as  stone  that  lies  on  the  castle  wall/* 

the  Lazar  vnder  the  gallow  tree 

was  a  pretty  man  &  small,  404 

the  Lazar  vnder  the  gallow  tree 

was  made  steward  in  King  Henerys  hall. 

ffins.] 


X. 

THE    GABERLUNYIE    MAN. 
A   Scottish   Song. 

TRADITION  informs  us  that  the  author  of  this  song  was 
King  James  V.  of  Scotland.  This  prince  (whose  charac- 
ter for  wit  and  libertinism  bears  a  great  resemblance  to 
that  of  his  gay  successor,  Charles  II.)  was"  noted  for 
strolling  about  his  dominions  in  disguise,*  and  for  his  frequent  gal- 
lantries with  country  girls.  Two  adventures  of  this  kind  he  hath 
celebrated  with  his  own  pen,  viz.  in  this  ballad  of  The  Gabet'lunyie 
Man;  and  in  another  intitled  The  Jolly  Beggar^  beginning  thus  : 

"  Thair  was  a  jollie  beggar,  and  a  begging  he  was  boun, 
And  he  tuik  up  his  quarters  into  a  land'art  toun. 

Fa,  la,  la,"  &c. 

It  seems  to  be  the  latter  of  these  ballads  (which  was  too  licen- 
tious to  be  admitted  into  this  collection)  that  is  meant  in  the 
Catalogue  of  Royal  and  Noble  Authors ^\  where  the  ingenious  writer 
remarks,  that  "  there  is  something  very  ludicrous  in  the  young 
woman's  distress  when  she  thought  her  first  favour  had  been 
thrown  away  upon  a  beggar.'' 

Bishop  Tanner  has  attributed  to  James  V.  the  celebrated  ballad 
of  Chrisfs  Kirk  on  the  Green,  which  is  ascribed  to  King  James  I. 
in  Bannatyne's  MS.  written  in   1568:  and,  notwithstanding  that 


*  Sc.  of  a  tinker,  beggar,  &c.     Thus  he  used  to  visit  a  smith's 
daughter  at  Niddry,  near  Edinburgh.  f  ^oi,  ii.  p.  203. 


68       THE    GABERLUNYIE    MAN, 

authority,  the  editor  of  this  book  is  of  opinion  that  Bishop  Tanner 
was  right. 

King  James  V.  died  Dec.  13th,  1542,  aged  33. 

[James  V.  was  called  the  King  of  the  Commons,  from  his  popular 
manners  and  vagrant  habits,  and  many  stories  are  told  of  his  ad- 
ventures when  in  disguise.  One  of  these  is  worth  relating  here. 
On  a  certain  occasion  he  heard  himself  abused  by  a  country  lad 
as  a  tyrant  and  a  man  odious  in  every  respect,  until,  unable  to  re- 
strain himself,  he  threw  off  his  disguise,  and  told  his  accuser  that 
he  was  the  king.  **  Are  you  really  the  king?"  said  the  lad,  retain- 
ing his  self-possession;  "  weel,  ye'U  maybe  hae  heard  o'  my  father : 
he  gaed  daft  three  days  regularly  every  year,  and  in  a'  that  time 
spoke  naething  but  lies  and  nonsense  :  now  I'm  exactly  the  same 
way,  and  this  is  one  of  my  three  daysJ^  There  is  no  authority  for 
attributing  the  present  song  to  James  V.,  except  ancient  and 
universal  tradition.  The  word  gaberlunyie  is  compounded  oi gaber, 
a  wallet,  and  lunyze,  the  loins  :  hence  a  travelling  tinker  or  beggar 
carrying  a  wallet  by  his  side,  was  called  a  "  gaberlunyie  man." 
Scott  has  sketched  a  vivid  portrait  of  one  of  these  privileged  beg- 
gars in  his  Antiquary,  Edie  Ochiltree,  to  wit.  The  Jolly  Beggar  is 
printed  in  Herd's  Scottish  Songs,  ii.  164,  and  in  Ritson's  Scottish 
Songs,  i.  168.  Competent  authorities  are  not  willing  to  take  the 
credit  of  the  authorship  of  Christ's  Kirk  on  the  Green  from 
James  I.  and  give  it  to  James  V.] 


HE  pauky  auld  Carle^  came  ovir  the  lee 
Wi'  mony  good-eens  and  days  to  mee, 
Saying,  Goodwife,  for  your  courtesle. 
Will  ye  lodge  a  silly  "^  poor  man  ? 
The  night  was  cauld,  the  carle  was  wat,  5 

And  down  ayont  the  ingle ^  he  sat ; 
My  dochters  shoulders  he  gan  to  clap, 
And  cadgily"*  ranted  and  sang. 

O  wow  !^  quo  he,  were  I  as  free. 
As  first  when  I  saw  this  countrle,  la 

How  blyth  and  merry  wad  I  bee! 
And  I  wad  nevir  think  lang. 


[1  sly  old  man.  ^  simple  or  poor.  "^  beyond  the  fire. 

*  merrily.  ^  exclamation  of  admiration  or  surprise.] 


THE    GABERLUNYIE    MAN.       69 

He  grew  canty/  and  she  grew  fain  ;^ 
But  little  did  her  auld  minny  ken^ 
What  thir  slee  twa^  togither  were  say'n,  15 

When  wooing  they  were  sa  thrang.^ 

And  O  !  quo  he,  ann  ye  were  as  black, 
As  evir  the  crown  of  your  dadyes  hat, 
Tis  I  wad  lay  thee  by  my  back, 

And  awa  wi'  me  thou  sould  gang.  20 

And  O  !  quoth  she,  ann  I  were  as  white, 
As  evir  the  snaw  lay  on  the  dike, 
lid  dead  me  braw,^  and  lady-like, 

And  awa  with  thee  lid  gang. 

Between  the  twa  was  made  a  plot ;  25 

They  raise  a  wee  before  the  cock. 
And  wyliely  they  shot  the  lock, 

And  fast  to  the  bent  are  they  gane. 
Up  the  morn  the  auld  wife  raise, 
And  at  her  leisure  put  on  her  claiths,  30 

Syne  to  the  servants  bed  she  gaes  ' 

To  speir  for  the  silly  poor  man. 

She  gaed  to  the  bed,  whair  the  beggar  lay. 

The  strae  was  cauld,  he  was  away. 

She  clapt  her  hands,  cryd,  Dulefu'  day  !  35 

For  some  of  our  geir  will  be  gane. 
Some  ran  to  coffer,  and  some  to  kist,^ 
But  nought  was  stown^  that  could  be  mist. 
She  dancid  her  lane,^  cryd.  Praise  be  blest, 

I  have  lodgd  a  leal  poor  man.  40 


Ver.  29.  The  carline,  other  copies. 

[*  merry.  ^  fond.                     ^  mother  know. 

*  these  sly  two.  ^  so  close.               ^  clad  me  handsomely. 

"^  chest.  ^  stolen.                    '^  alone  by  herself.] 


70       THE    GABERLUNYIE    MAN. 

Since  naithings  awa,  as  we  can  learn, 

The  kirns  to  kirn/  and  milk  to  earn, 

Gae  butt  the  house,^  lass,  and  waken  my  bairn, 

And  bid  her  come  quickly  ben.^ 
The  servant  gaed  where  the  dochter  lay,  45 

The  sheets  was  cauld,  she  was  away, 
And  fast  to  her  goodwife  can  say, 

Shes  aff  with  the  gaberlunyie-man. 

O  fy  gar  ride,  and  fy  gar  rin. 

And  hast  ye,  find  these  traitors  agen  ;  50 

For  shees  be  burnt,  and  hees  be  slein. 

The  wearyfou*  gaberlunyie-man. 
Some  rade  upo  horse,  some  ran  a  fit, 
The  wife  was  wood,^  and  out  o'  her  wit ; 
She  could  na  gang,  nor  yet  could  she  sit,  55 

But  ay  did  curse  and  did  ban. 

Mean  time  far  hind  out  owre  the  lee, 
For  snug  in  a  glen,  where  nane  could  see, 
The  twa,  with  kindlie  sport  and  glee. 

Cut  frae  a  new  cheese  a  whang.^  60 

The  priving^  was  gude,  it  pleas'd  them  baith, 
To  lo'e  her  for  ay,  he  gae  her  his  aith. 
Quo  she,  to  leave  thee,  I  will  be  laith, 

My  winsome  gaberlunyie-man. 

O  kend  my  minny  I  were  wi'  you,  ds 

Illfardly^  wad  she  crook  her  mou,^ 
Sic  a  poor  man  sheld  nevir  trow, 
Aftir  the  gaberlunyie-mon. 


[*  churns  to  churn.                       '^  go  to  the  outer  apartment. 

3  in.                       '*  troublesome.  ^  mad. 

s  slice.                   "^  proof.  ^  ill-favouredly. 
^  mouth. 


THE    GABERLUNYIE    MAN.      71 

My  dear,  quo  he,  yee're  yet  owre  yonge ; 
And  hae  na  learnt  the  beggars  tonge,  70 

To  follow  me  frae  toun  to  toiin, 
And  carrle  the  gaberlunyie  on. 

WI'  kauk  and  keel/  111  win  your  bread, 

And  spindles  and  whorles'"^  for  them  wha  need, 

Whilk  is  a  gentil  trade  indeed  75 

The  gaberlunyie  to  carrie — o. 
Ill  bow  my  leg  and  crook  my  knee, 
And  draw  a  black  clout  owre  my  ee, 
A  criple  or  blind  they  will  cau  me  : 

While  we  sail  sing  and  be  merrie — o.  80 


XI. 

ON    THOMAS    LORD    CROMWELL. 

'T  is  ever  the  fate  of  a  disgraced  minister  to  be  forsaken 
by  his  friends,  and  insulted  by  his  enemies,  always 
reckoning  among  the  latter  the  giddy  inconstant  multi- 
tude. We  have  here  a  spurn  at  fallen  greatness  from 
one  of  the  angry  partisans  of  declining  popery,  who  could  never 
forgive  the  downfall  of  their  Diana  and  loss  of  their  craft.  The 
ballad  seems  to  have  been  composed  between  the  time  of  Crom- 
well's commitment  to  the  Tower,  June  loth,  1540,  and  that  of  his 
being  beheaded,  July  28  following.  A  short  interval  !  but  Henry's 
passion  for  Catharine  Howard  would  admit  of  no  delay.  Not- 
withstanding our  libeller,  Cromwell  had  many  excellent  qualities  ; 
his  great  fault  was  too  much  obsequiousness  to  the  arbitrary  will 
of  his  master ;  but  let  it  be  considered  that  this  master  had  raised 
him  from  obscurity,  and  that  the  high-born  nobility  had  shewn 
him  the  way  in  every  kind  of  mean  and  servile  compliance.  The 
original  copy,  printed  at  London  in    1540,  is  intitled,   A  newe 


\}  chalk  and  ruddle. 

'-^  instruments  used  for  spinning  in  Scotland.] 


12  ON    THOMAS 

bauade  made  of  Thomas  Criwiwel,  called  "  Trolle  on  away^     To  it 
is  prefixed  this  distich  by  way  of  burthen  : 

"  Trolle  on  away,  trolle  on  a^\  aye. 

Synge  heave  and  howe  rombelowe  trolle  on  away,"" 

The  following  piece  gave  rise  to  a  poetic  controversy,  which 
was  carried  on  thro'  a  succession  of  seven  or  eight  ballads,  written 
for  and  against  Lord  Cromwell.  These  are  all  preserved  in  the 
archives  of  the  Antiquarian  Society,  in  a  large  folio  collection  ot 
proclamations,  &c.,  made  in  the  reigns  of  King  Henry  VIII.,  King 
Edward  VL,  Queen  Mary,  Queen  Elizabeth,  King  James  I.,  &c. 

[Thomas  Cromwell,  called  Malleus  Monachoric7}i,  came  of  a 
good  old  Lincolnshire  family.  Pie  was  born  about  the  year  1490 
at  Putney,  where  his  father  carried  on  the  business  of  an  iron- 
founder,  which  his  enemies  reduced  to  that  of  a  blacksmith.  His 
father  died  early,  and  in  consequence  of  the  re-marriage  of  his 
mother,  he  became  a  wanderer. 

The  author  of  the  poor  play,  entitled  The  Life  and  Death  of 
Thomas  Lord  Cromwell,  which  has  been  absurdly  attributed  to 
Shakspere,  makes  '^  old  Cromwell,  a  blacksmith,  of  Putney,^'  live  to 
see  his  son  "made  lord  keeper." 

There  is  a  fragment  of  a  ballad  on  Cromwell  without  any  be- 
ginning in  the  Folio  MS.  (ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall,  vol.  i.  p.  127), 
which  ends  as  follows  : 

*'  How  now?     How  now?  the  king  did  say, 

Thomas  how  is  it  with  thee  ? 
Hanging  and  drawing  O  King  !  he  saide ; 

You  shall  never  gett  more  from  me.^'' 

Mr.  Hales  points  out  a  coincidence  not  mentioned  by  Mr. 
Froude,  viz.  that  the  minister  was  beheaded  and  the  king  married 
to  Catherine  Floward  on  one  and  the  same  day.  In  1525  Crom- 
well undertook  for  Wolsey  the  work  of  visiting  and  breaking  up 
the  small  monasteries  which  the  Pope  had  granted  for  the  founda- 
tion of  Wolsey's  new  colleges,  thus  commencing  the  work  which 
gamed  him  the  enmity  of  the  adherents  of  tlie  old  faith.  Fie  was 
the  first  to  cause  Bibles  in  the  English  language  to  be  deposited  in 
all  the  churches,  and  to  him  we  owe  the  institution  of  parish  re- 
gisters.] 


LORD    CROMWELL.  ^i 


^^j5  OTH  man  and  chylde  is  glad  to  here  tell 
MS%    Of  that  false  travtoure  Th 


§^^    Of  that  false  traytoure  Thomas  Crumwell, 
^^^    Now  that  he  is  set  to  learne  to  spell. 
-'^'^  Synge  trolle  on  away. 

When  fortune  lokyd  the  in  thy  face, 

Thou  haddyst  fayre  tyme,  but  thou  lackydyst  grace  ;  5 

Thy  cofers  with  golde  thou  fyilydst  a  pace. 

Synge,  &c. 

Both  plate  and  chalys  came  to  thy  fyst, 
Thou  lockydst  them  vp  where  no  man  wyst, 
Tyll  in  the  kynges  treasoure  suche  thinges  were  myst. 

Synge,  &c. 

Both  crust  and  crumme  came  thorowe  thy  handes,  10 
Thy  marchaundyse  sayled  over  the  sandes, 
Therfore  nowe  thou  art  layde  fast  in  bandes. 

Synge,  &c. 

Fyrste  when  kynge  Henry,  God  saue  his  grace! 
Perceyud  myschefe  kyndlyd  in  thy  face, 
Then  it  was  tyme  to  purchase  the  a  place.  15 

Synge,  &c. 

Hys  grace  was  euer  of  gentyll  nature, 
Mouyd  with  petye,  and  made  the  hys  seruyture  ; 
But  thou,  as  a  wretche,  suche  thinges  dyd  procure. 

Synge,  &c. 

Thou  dyd  not  remembre,  false  heretyke, 

One  God,  one  fayth,  and  one  kynge  catholyke,        20 

For  thou  hast  bene  so  long  a  scysmatyke. 

Synge,  &c. 

Thou  woldyst  not  learne  to  knowe  these  thre  ; 
But  euer  was  full  of  iniquite  : 

Wherfore  all  this  lande  hathe  ben  troubled  with  the. 

Synge,  &c. 


74  ON    THOMAS 

All  they,  that  were  of  the  new  trycke,  25 

Agaynst  the  churche  thou  baddest  them  stycke ; 
Wherfore  nowe  thou  haste  touchyd  the  quycke. 

Synge,  &c. 

Bothe  sacramentes  and  sacramentalles 
Thou  woldyst  not  suffre  within  thy  walles  ; 
Nor  let  vs  praye  for  all  chrysten  soules.  30 

Synge,  &c. 

Of  what  generacyon  thou  were  no  tonge  can  tell, 
Whyther  of  Chayme,  or  Syschemell, 
Or  else  sent  vs  frome  the  deuyll  of  hell. 

Synge,  &c. 

Thou  woldest  neuer  to  vertue  applye, 

But  couetyd  euer  to  clymme  to  hye,  3$ 

And  nowe  haste  thou  trodden  thy  shoo  awrye. 

Synge,  &c. 

Who-so-euer  dyd  winne  thou  wolde  not  lose ; 
Wherfore  all  Englande  doth  hate  the,  as  I  suppose, 
Bycause  thou  wast  false  to  the  redolent  rose. 

Synge,  &c. 

Thou  myghtest  have  learned  thy  cloth  to  flocke      40 
Upon  thy  gresy  fullers  stocke  ; 
Wherfore  lay  downe  thy  heade  vpon  this  blocke. 

Synge,  &c. 

Yet  saue  that  soule,  that  God  hath  bought, 
And  for  thy  carcas  care  thou  nought, 
Let  it  suffre  payne,  as  it  hath  wrought.  45 

Synge,  &c. 


Ver.  32.  i.e.  Cain,  or  Ishmael.  See  below,  the  note,  book  ii. 
No.  III.  stanza  3rd.  V.  41.  Cromwell's  father  is  generally  said 
to  have  been  a  blacksmith  at  Putney  :  but  the  author  of  this 
ballad  would  insinuate  that  either  he  himself  or  some  of  his  ances- 
tors were  fullers  by  trade. 


LORD    CROMWELL.  75 

God  saue  kyng  Henry  with  all  his  power, 
And  prynce  Edwarde  that  goodly  flowre, 
With  al  hys  lordes  of  great  honoure. 

Synge  trolle  on  awaye,  syng  trolle  on  away. 

Hevye  and  how  rombelowe^  trolle  on  awaye.   50 


XII. 
HARPALUS. 

An  Ancient  English  Pastoral. 

*HIS  beautiful  poem,  which  is  perhaps  the  first  attempt 
at  pastoral  writing  in  our  language,  is  preserved  among 
the  Songs  and  Sonneiies  of  the  Earl  of  SuiTey,  &c.,  4to. 
in  that  part  of  the  collection  which  consists  of  pieces 
by  uncertain  auctours.  These  poems  were  first  published  in  1557, 
ten  years  after  that  accomplished  nobleman  fell  a  victim  to  the 
tyranny  of  Henry  VIII.;  but  it  is  presumed  most  of  them  were 
composed  before  the  death  of  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt  in  1541.  See 
Surrey's  Poems,  4to.  fol.  19,  49. 

Tho'  written  perhaps  near  half  a  century  before  the  Shepherd's 
Calendar^"*  this  will  be  found  far  superior  to  any  of  those  eclogues, 
in  natural  unaffected  sentiments,  in  simplicity  of  style,  in  easy  flow 
of  versification,  and  all  other  beauties  of  pastoral  poetry.  Spenser 
ought  to  have  profited  more  by  so  excellent  a  model. 

[Warton  describes  this  poem  as  ''perhaps  the  first  example  in 
our  language  now  remaining  of  the  pure  and  unmixed  pastoral, 
and  in  the  erotic  species  for  ease  of  numbers,  elegance  of  rural 
allusion  excelling  everything  of  the  kind  in  Spenser,  who  is  erro- 
neously ranked  as  our  earHest  English  bucolic."  He  did  not, 
however,  take  into  account  Robm  and  Makine^  which  follows 
Harpalus  in  this  book,  but  was  written  more  than  half  a  century 
before  it.  Spenser-lovers  also  are  not  likely  to  agree  with  Percy's 
and  Warton's  summary  judgments  upon  the  Shepherd's  Calendar, '\ 

*  First  published  in  1579. 
\}  The  burden  of  an  old  song.] 


76  HARPALUS. 


HYLIDA  was  a  faire  mayde, 

As  fresh  as  any  flowre  ; 
Whom  Harpalus  the  herdman  prayde 
To  be  his  paramour. 

Harpalus,  and  eke  Corin,  5 

Were  herdmen  both  yfere  '} 
And  Phylida  could  twist  and  spinne, 

And  thereto  sing  full  clere. 

But  Phylida  was  all  to  coye, 

For  Harpalus  to  winne  :  lo 

For  Corin  was  her  onely  joye, 

Who  forst'"^  her  not  a  pinne. 

How  often  would  she  flowers  twine  ? 

How  often  garlandes  make 
Of  couslips  and  of  colombine  ?  15 

And  al  for  Corin's  sake. 

But  Corin,  he  had  haukes  to  lure, 

And  forced  more  the  field  :^ 
Of  lovers  lawe  he  toke  no  cure ; 

For  once  he  was  begfilde.  lo 

Harpalus  prevailed  nought, 

His  labour  all  was  lost ; 
For  he  was  fardest  from  her  thought, 

And  yet  he  loved  her  most. 

Therefore  waxt  he  both  pale  and  leane,         25 

And  drye  as  clot  of  clay : 
His  fieshe  it  was  consumed  cleane; 

His  colour  gone  away. 

P  together.  ^  regarded.  ^  cared  more  for  field  sports.] 


HARPALUS,  77 

His  beard  it  had  not  long  be  shave; 

His  heare  hong  all  unkempt :  30 

A  man  most  fit  even  for  the  grave, 

Whom  spitefull  love  had  spent. 

His  eyes  were  red  and  all  'forewacht;'^ 

His  face  besprent  with  teares  : 
It  semde  unhap  had  him  long  '  hatcht/  15 

In  mids  of  his  dispaires. 

His  clothes  were  blacke,  and  also  bare ; 

As  one  forlorne  was  he ; 
Upon  his  head  alwayes  he  ware 

A  wreath  of  wyllow  tree.  40 

His  beastes  he  kept  upon  the  hyll, 

And  he  sate  in  the  dale ; 
And  thus  with  sighes  and  sorrowes  shril, 

He  gan  to  tell  his  tale. 

Oh  Harpalus  !  (thus  would  he  say)  45 

Unhappiest  under  sunne  ! 
The  cause  of  thine  unhappy  day, 

By  love  was  first  begunne. 

For  thou  wentest  first  by  sute  to  seeke 

A  tigre  to  make  tame,  5* 

That  settes  not  by  thy  love  a  leeke  ; 
But  makes  thy  griefe  her  game. 

As  easy  it  were  for  to  convert 

The  frost  into  '  a^  flame  ; 
As  for  to  turne  a  frowarde  hert,  55 

Whom  thou  so  faine  wouldst  frame. 


Ver,  33,  &c.  The  corrections  are  from  ed.  i574» 
]}  overwakeful,] 


78  HARPALUS. 

Corin  he  liveth  carelesse  : 

He  leapes  among  the  leaves : 
He  eates  the  frutes  of  thy  redresse:* 

Thou  *  reapst/  he  takes  the  sheaves.  6« 

My  beastes,  a  whyle  your  foode  refraine, 
And  harke  your  herdmans  sounde  : 

Whom  spitefull  love,  alas !  hath  slaine, 
Through-girt^  with  many  a  wounde. 

0  happy  be  ye,  beastes  wilde,  65 
That  here  your  pasture  takes : 

1  se  that  ye  be  not  begilde 

Of  these  your  faithfull  makes. ^ 

The  hart  he  feedeth  by  the  hinde  : 

The  bucke  harde  by  the  do  :  70 

The  turtle  dove  is  not  unkinde 
To  him  that  loves  her  so. 

The  ewe  she  hath  by  her  the  ram  me  : 

The  yong  cow  hath  the  bull : 
The  calfe  with  many  a  lusty  lambe  75 

Do  fede  their  hunger  full. 

But,  wel-away  !  that  nature  wrought 

The,  Phylida,  so  faire  : 
For  I  may  say  that  I  have  bought 

Thy  beauty  all  to  deare.  80 

What  reason  is  that  crueltie 

With  beautie  should  have  part  ? 

Or  els  that  such  great  tyranny 
Should  dwell  in  womans  hart  ? 

I  see  therefore  to  shape  my  death  85 

She  cruelly  is  prest  ;* 
To  th'ende  that  I  may  want  my  breath  : 

My  dayes  been  at  the  best. 

\}  care.  ^  pierced  through.  ^  mates.  *  ready.] 


HARPALUS.  79 

O  Cupide,  graunt  this  my  request, 

And  do  not  stoppe  thine  eares  ;  90 

That  she  may  feele  within  her  brest 
The  paines  of  my  dispaires  : 

Of  Corin  *  who '  is  carelesse, 

That  she  may  crave  her  fee  : 
As  I  have  done  in  great  distresse,  95 

That  loved  her  faithfully. 

But  since  that  I  shal  die  her  slave ; 

Her  slave,  and  eke  her  thrall '} 
Write  you,  my  frendes,  upon  my  grave 

This  chaunce  that  is  befall. 


100 


"  Here  lieth  unhappy  Harpalus 
By  cruell  love  now  slaine  : 

Whom  Phylida  unjustly  thus 
Hath  murdred  with  disdaine." 


xni. 

ROBIN    AND    MAKYNE. 
An  Ancient  Scottish  Pastoral. 

HE  palm  of  pastoral  poesy  is  here  contested  by  a  co- 
temporary  writer  with  the  author  of  the  foregoing. 
The  critics  will  judge  of  their  respective  merits ;  but 
must  make  some  allowance  for  the  preceding  ballad, 
which  is  given  simply  as  it  stands  in  the  old  editions ;  whereas  this, 
which  follows,  has  been  revised  and  amended  throughout  by 
Allan  Ramsay,  from  whose  JEvergreen,  vol.  i.  it  is  here  chiefly 
printed.  The  curious  reader  may,  however,  compare  it  with  the 
more  original  copy,  printed  among  Ancient  Scottish  Foems,  from  the 

[}  captive.] 


8o  ROBIN    AND    MAKYNE. 

MS.  of  George  Bannatyne,  1568,  Edinburgh,  1770,  i2mo.  Mr. 
Robert  Henryson  (to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  this  poem)  2.^ 
pears  to  so  much  advantage  among  the  writers  of  eclogue,  that  we 
are  sorry  we  can  give  little  other  account  of  him  besides  what  is 
contained  in  the  following  eloge,  written  by  W.  Dunbar,  a  Scottish 
poet,  who  lived  about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century : 

*'  In  Dunfermline  he  [Death]  hes  done  roun 
Gud  Maister  Robert  Henrisoun." 

Indeed,  some  little  further  insight  into  the  history  of  this  Scot- 
tish bard  is  gained  from  the  title  prefixed  to  some  of  his  poems 
preserved  in  the  British  Museum,  viz.  The  7norall  Fabillis  of  Esop^ 
compylit  be  Maister  Robert  Henrisoun,  scolmaister  of  Dum- 
fermling,  15  71.     Harl.  MSS.  3865,  §  i. 

In  Ramsay's  Evergreen,  vol.  i.  are  preserved  two  other  little 
Doric  pieces  by  Henryson :  the  one  in  titled  The  Lyon  and  the 
Mouse,  the  other  The  garment  of  gude  Lady  is.  Some  other  of  his 
poems  may  be  seen  in  the  Ancient  Scottish  Toe??is,  printed  from 
Bannatyne's  MS.  above  referred  to. 

[This  remarkable  poem  is  peculiarly  interesting  as  being  the 
earliest  specimen  of  pastoral  poetry  in  the  language.  Campbell 
calls  it  "  the  first  known  pastoral,  and  one  of  the  best  in  a  dialect 
rich  with  the  favours  of  the  pastoral  muse."  Langhorne  writes 
justly : 

"  In  gentle  Henryson's  unlaboured  strain 
Sweet  Arethusa's  shepherd  breath'd  again." 

Percy  errs  in  describing  Henryson  as  a  contemporary  of  Surrey, 
as  the  Scottish  poet  lived  half  a  century  before  the  English  one. 
The  dates  of  his  birth  and  death  are  not  known,  but  he  flourished 
in  the  reign  of  James  III.  (1460-1488).  "  On  the  loth  of  Septem- 
ber, 1462,  the  venerable  master  Robert  Henrysone,  Licentiate  in 
Arts  and  Bachelor  in  Degrees,  was  incorporated  or  admitted  a 
member  of  the  newly  founded  University  of  Glasgow."  He  was  a 
notary  public,  and  probably  the  master  of  the  grammar  school  at- 
tached to  the  Abbey  of  Dunfermline,  not  as  might  be  supposed  a 
mere  parish  schoolmaster.  According  to  the  tradition  of  the  last 
century,  our  poet  was  the  representative  of  the  family  of  Henryson 
or  Henderson,  of  Fordell,  in  the  county  of  Fife ;  but  Mr.  David 
Laing  thinks  that  it  is  a  gratuitous  assumption  to  suppose  that  he 
or  his  predecessors  ever  possessed  a  single  acre  of  the  lands  of 
Fordell. 

Percy  has  used  the  version  given  in  Ramsay's  Evergreen,  whicn 
is  slightly  altered  in  diction  from  the  original  in  the  Bannatyne 
MS. ;  for  instance,  the  last  stanza  occurs  in  the  latter  as  follows  : 


ROBIN   AND    MAKYNE, 


8e 


"  IMakyne  went  hame  blyth  anneuche, 

Attour  the  holltis  hair ; 
E-obene  murnit,  and  Makyne  leuche ; 

Scho  sang,  he  sichit  sair 
And  so  left  him,  bayth  wo  and  wreuch, 

In  dolour  and  in  cair, 
Kepand  his  hird  under  a  huche 

Amangis  the  holtis  hair." 

In  the  Evergreen  version,  the  last  verse  is  altered  to  "  Amang 
the  rushy  gair,"  either  because  the  words  "  holtis  hair  "  occur  in  verse 
two  of  the  stanza,  or  that  the  Editor  saw  an  impropriety  in  the  close 
vicinity  of  the  similar  words  holt  and  heuch.  The  two  words 
"  holtis  hair "  are  explained  as  hoary  hills  or  hoary  woods,  but 
Y\vi\2.y  {^Scottish  Historical  and  Roinantic  Ballads  y  1808,  vol.  ii.  p.  193) 
holds  that "  hair  "  really  means  high,  and  derives  it  from  Isl.  har  = 
altus.  He  says  that  a  high  rock  in  some  of  the  northern  counties 
of  Scotland,  where  the  dialect  is  strongly  tinctured  with  Danish,  is 
called  "  hair  craig,^'  and  that  the  same  word  lingers  on  in  the  Hare- 
stone  of  the  Borough  Moor,  Edinburgh,  which  obtained  its  name 
in  the  following  manner  :  The  laird  of  Pennycuik  held  certain 
lands  by  a  strange  tenure.  He  was  obliged  to  mount  a  large  stone 
or  rock,  and  salute  the  king  with  three  blasts  of  a  horn  whenever 
he  passed  that  way.  This  rock  or  eminence  was  called  the  "  Hare- 
stone,"  and  still  exists  near  Morningside  Church.  Hoary,  however, 
is  to  be  understood  as  grey  and  not  as  white  with  snow,  so  that 
the  hare-stone  is  probably  the  grey  stone.  The  word  holt  may 
also  mean  a  heath,  and  Caedmon  uses  the  phrase  "har  hse^  "  =  hoar 
or  grey  heath. 

The  date  (157 1)  attached  to  Henryson's  version  of  ^sofs 
Fables  is  that  of  transcription.  It  is  not  known  when  the  Fables 
were  first  printed,  but  they  were  reprinted  by  Robert  Lekpreuik 
for  Henry  Charteris  in  1570.  They  are  supposed  to  have  been 
written  between  1470  and  1480. 

Henryson  wrote  several  other  short  poems,  as  well  as  the  Testa- 
ment of  Cresseid,  written  as  a  continuation  or  supplement  to 
Chaucer's  Troilus  and  Cresseide,  all  of  which  have  been  collected 
for  the  first  time  into  an  elegant  volume  by  David  Laing,  who  has 
added  notes  and  a  memoir  of  the  poet  (Edinburgh,  1865). 

This  Testament  has  a  particular  interest  for  us,  because  Shak 
spere  referred  to  it  when  he  wrote   "  Cressida   was  a   beggar " 
{Twelfth  Night,  act  iii.  sc.   i).     The  lines  in  Henryson's  poem 
which  illustrate  this  passage,  are  as  follows : 

"  Thair  was  na  buit  [help],  bot  furth  with  thame  scho  yeid 
Fra  place  to  place,  quhill  cauld  and  houngir  sair 
Compellit  hir  to  be  ane  rank  beggair."  LI.  481-3.] 

2  Q 


82  ROBIN   AND    MAKYNE. 


OBIN  sat  on  the  gude  grene  hill, 
Kelpand  a  flock  of  fie/ 
Quhen  mlrry^  Makyne  said  him  till/ 
'*  O  Robin  rew"*  on  me  : 
I  haif  thee  luivt  baith  loud  and  still/  5 

Thir  towmonds^  twa  or  thre ; 

My  dule  in  dern  bot  gif  thou  dill/ 

Doubtless  but  dreid  III  die." 

Robin  replied,  Now  by  the  rude, 

Naithing  of  love  I  knaw,  la 

But  keip  my  sheip  undir  yon  wod  : 

Lo  quhair  they  raik  on  raw.^ 
Quhat  can  have  mart'^  thee  in  thy  mude/*^ 

Thou  Makyne  to  me  schaw  ; 
Or  quhat  is  luve,  or  to  be  lude  ?  ^^  15 

Fain  wald  I  leir^^  that  law. 

"  The  law  of  luve  gin  thou  wald  leir, 

Tak  thair  an  A,  B,  C  ; 
Be  heynd/^  courtas,  and  fair  of  feir/'* 

Wyse,  hardy,  kind  and  frie,  ^o 

Sae  that  nae  danger  do  the  deir/^ 

Quhat  dule  in  dern  thou  drie  ;^^ 
Press  ay  to  pleis,^^  and  blyth  appeir, 

Be  patient  and  privie." 


Ver.  19.  Bannatyne's  MS.  reads  as  above,  heynd^  not  key/id,  as 
in  the  Edinb.  ed.  1770.  V.  21.  So  that  no  danger,  Bannatyne's 
MS. 

[^  keeping  a  flock  of  sheep.         ^  when  merry.  ^  unto. 

"*  take  pity.         ^  openly  and  secretly.        ^  these  twelvemonths. 
^  unless  thou  share  my  secret  woe.  ^  they   extend    them- 

lelves  in  a  row.  ^  marred.  '^  mood.  ^^  loved. 

^^  learn.  ^"^  gentle.  ^^  fair  of  countenance. 

^^  do  thee  hurt.      ^^  whatever  sorrow  you  may  endure  in  secret. 
^^  be  eager  to  please.] 


ROBIN   AND    MAKYNE,  83 

Robin,  he  answert  her  againe,  as 

I  wat  not  quhat  is  luve ; 
But  I  haif  marvel  in  certaine 

Quhat  makes  thee  thus  wanrufe.^ 
The  wedder  is  fair,  and  I  am  fain  ;'^ 

My  sheep  gais  hail  abuve  ;^  30 

And  sould  we  pley  us  on  the  plain, 

They  wald  us  baith  repruve. 

"  Robin,  tak  tent*  unto  my  tale, 

And  wirk^  all  as  I  reid  f 
And  thou  sail  haif  my  heart  all  hale,  35 

Eik  and  my  maiden-heid  : 
Sen  God,  he  sendis  bute  for  bale,^ 

And  for  murning  remeid,^ 
Fdern  with  thee  bot  gif  I  dale,^ 

Doubtless  I  am  but  deid."  40 

Makyne,  to-morn  be  this  ilk  tyde, 

Gif  ye  will  meit  me  heir. 
Maybe  my  sheip  may  gang  besyde, 

Quhyle  we  have  liggd  full  neir  ; 
But  maugre  haif  I,  gif  I  byde,^*^  4* 

Frae  thay  begin  to  steir, 
Quhat  lyes  on  heart  I  will  nocht  hyd, 

Then  Makyne  mak  gude  cheir. 

"  Robin,  thou  reivs^^  me  of  my  rest ; 

I  luve  bot  thee  alane."  5^ 

Makyne,  adieu  !  the  sun  goes  west. 

The  day  is  neir-hand  gane. 


[*  uneasy.  ^  glad.  ^  go  healthful  in  the  upla  \ds. 

*  heed.  ^  do.  ^  advise. 

^  since  God  sends  good  for  evil.     ^  for  mourning  remedy. 

^  in  secret  with  thee,  unless  I  share  thy  favour. 

^^  But  ill  will  may  I  have  if  I  stay.  ^^  bereavest.] 


ROBIN   AND    MAKYNE. 

"  Robin,  in  dule^  I  am  so  drest, 

That  luve  will  be  my  bane." 
Makyn,  gae  luve  quhair-eir  ye  list,  55 

For  leman  I  luid  nane. 

"  Robin,  I  stand  in  sic  a  style, 

I  sich'^  and  that  full  sair." 
Makyne,  I  have  bene  here  this  quyle ; 

At  hame  I  wish  I  were.  6© 

"  Robin,  my  hinny,  talk  and  smyle, 

Gif  thou  will  do  nae  mair." 
Makyne,  som  other  man  beguyle, 

For  hameward  I  will  fare. 

Syne  Robin  on  his  ways  he  went,  65 

As  light  as  leif  on  tree  ; 
But  Makyne  murnt  and  made  lament, 

Scho^  trow'd  him  neir  to  see. 
Robin  he  brayd  attowre  the  bent  :* 

Then  Makyne  cried  on  hie,  70 

"  Now  may  thou  sing,  for  I  am  shent  !* 

Quhat  ailis  luve  at  me  ?** 

Makyne  went  hame  withouten  fail. 

And  weirylie  could  weip  ; 
Then  Robin  in  a  full  fair  dale  75 

Assemblit  all  his  sheip. 
Be  that  some  part  of  Makyne's  ail, 

Out-throw  his  heart  could  creip ; 
Hir  fast  he  followt  to  assail, 

And  till  her  tuke  gude  keip.^  Sa 

Abyd,  abyd,  thou  fair  Makyne, 

A  word  for  ony  thing  ; 
For  all  my  luve,  it  sail  be  thyne, 

Withouten  departing.'^ 

\}  sorrow.  2  ^\^,  3  she. 

^  he  hastened  over  the  field.  ^  confounded. 

*  and  took  good  watcli  of  her.  "^  dividing.] 


ROBIN  AND    MAKYNE. 


85 


All  hale  thy  heart  for  till  have  myne, 

Is  all  my  coveting  ; 
My  sheip  to  morn  quhyle  houris  nyne, 

Will  need  of  nae  keiping. 

"  Robin,  thou  hast  heard  sung  and  say, 

In  gests  and  storys  auld, 
The  man  that  will  not  when  he  may, 

Sail  have  nocht  when  he  wald. 
I  pray  to  heaven  baith  nicht  and  day, 

Be  eiked^  their  cares  sae  cauld, 
That  presses  first  with  thee  to  play 

Be  forrest,  firth,  or  fauld."^ 

Makyne,  the  nicht  is  soft  and  dry, 

The  wether  warm  and  fair, 
And  the  grene  wod  richt  neir-hand  by, 

To  walk  attowre  all  where  : 
There  may  nae  janglers^  us  espy. 

That  is  in  luve  contrair ; 
Therin,  Makyne,  baith  you  and  I 

Unseen  may  mak  repair. 

**  Robin,  that  warld  is  now  away, 

And  quyt  brocht  till  an  end  : 
And  nevir  again  thereto,  perfay. 

Sail  it  be  as  thou  wend ; 
For  of  my  pain  thou  made  but  play ; 

I  words  in  vain  did  spend  : 
As  thou  hast  done,  sae  sail  I  say, 

Murn  on,  I  think  to  mend." 

Makyne,  the  hope  of  all  my  heil,* 

My  heart  on  thee  is  set ; 
ril  evermair  to  thee  be  leil,^ 

Quhyle  I  may  live  but  lett,^ 


90 


95 


100 


105 


no 


"5 


Ver.  99.  Bannatyne's  MS.  has  woid^  not  woud,  as  in  ed.  1770. 
]}  enlarged.  ^  \yy  forest,  copse,  or  field.  ^  tell-tales. 

*  health  or  happiness.         ^  true.         ^  live  without  hindrance.] 


86  ROBIN   AND   MAKYNE, 

Never  to  fail  as  uthers  feill, 

Quhat  grace  so  eir  I  get. 
*'  Robin,  with  thee  I  will  not  deill ; 

Adieu,  for  thus  we  met/'  ■    ito 

Makyne  went  hameward  blyth  enough, 

Attowre  the  holtis  hair  ;^ 
Pure  Robin  murnd,  and  Makyne  leugh;* 

Scho  sang,  and  he  sicht  sair  :^ 
And  so  left  him  bayth  wo  and  wreuch,^  125 

In  dolor  and  in  care, 
Keipand  his  herd  under  a  heuch,^ 

Amang  the  rushy  gair.^ 


XIV. 
GENTLE    HERDSMAN,    TELL    TO    ME. 

Dialogue  between  a  Pilgrim  and  Herdsman. 

'HE  scene  of  this  beautiful  old  ballad  is  laid  near  Wal- 
singham,  in  Norfolk,  where  was  anciently  an  image  of 
the  Virgin  Mary,  famous  over  all  Europe  for  the  nu- 
merous pilgrimages  made  to  it,  and  the  great  riches  it 
possessed.  Erasmus  has  given  a  very  exact  and  humorous  de- 
scription of  the  superstitions  practised  there  in  his  time.  See  his 
account  of  the  Virgo  pa?^ai/ialassia,  in  his  colloquy,  intitled,  Fere- 
grinatio  religio7iis  ergo.  He  tells  us,  the  rich  offerings  in  silver, 
gold,  and  precious  stones,  that  were  there  shewn  him,  were  incre- 
dible, there  being  scarce  a  person  of  any  note  in  England,  but 
what  some  time  or  other  paid  a  visit,  or  sent  a  present  to  our  lady 


Ver.  117.  Bannatyne's  MS.  reads  as  above  feill,  not  faill,  as  in 
ed.  1770. 

['  over  the  grey  woods  (see  p.  81).      ^  laughed.     ^  sighed  sore. 
^  wretchedness.  ''  height  or  hill.  °  rushy  strip  of  land.] 


GENTLE    HERDSMAN,  87 

of  VValsingham.^  At  the  dissolution  of  the  monasteries  in  1538, 
this  splendid  image,  with  another  from  Ipswich,  was  carried  to 
Chelsea,  and  there  burnt  in  the  presence  of  commissioners ;  who, 
we  trust,  did  not  burn  the  jewels  and  the  finery. 

This  poem  is  printed  from  a  copy  in  the  Editor's  folio  MS. 
which  had  greatly  suffered  by  the  hand  of  time ;  but  vestiges  of 
several  of  the  lines  remaining,  some  conjectural  supplements  have 
been  attempted,  which,  for  greater  exactness,  are  in  this  one  ballad 
distinguished  by  italicks-f 

[The  shrine  of  the  Virgin  "t  Walsingham  was  the  favourite  Eng- 
lish resort  of  pilgrims  for  neaiiy  four  hundred  years,  and  the  peo]>]e 
of  Norfolk  were  in  great  distress  when  their  image  was  taken  away 
iiom  them,  and  the  stream  of  votaries  was  suddenly  stopped.  In 
a  copy  of  the  Reliqtces  in  the  library  of  the  British  Museum,  there 
is  a  MS.  note  by  William  Cole  to  the  following  effect :  "  I  was 
lately  informed  that  the  identical  image  of  our  lady  of  Walsing- 
ham being  mured  up  in  an  old  wall,  and  there  discovered  on  pull- 
ing it  down,  was  presented  by  the  Earl  of  Leicester  (Coke)  to  a 
relative  of  his  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion.^^ 

The  shrine  was  connected  with  a  Priory  of  Augustinian  Canons, 
which  was  founded  during  the  episcopate  of  William  Turbus, 
Bishop  of  Norwich  (1146-1174).  When  Henry  III.  made  his 
pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  in  the  year  1241,  it  had  long  been  famous, 
and  was  probably  more  frequented  even  than  the  tomb  of  St. 
Thomas  a  Becket  at  Canterbury.  Foreigners  of  all  nations  came 
hither  on  pilgrimage,  and  in  number  and  quality  the  devotees  ap- 
pear to  have  equalled  those  who  toiled  to  the  Lady  of  Loretto  in 
Italy.  Several  of  our  kings  visited  the  shrine  after  Henry  HI. 
had  set  the  example.  Edward  I.  was  there  in  1280  and  in  1296, 
Edward  II.  in  13 15,  and  Edward  IV.  and  his  queen  in  1469. 
Henry  VII.  offered  his  prayers  in  "  our  Lady's  Church^'  at  Christ- 
mas time  1486-7,  and  in  the  following  summer,  after  the  battle  of 
Stoke,  ''he  sent  his  banner  to  be  offered  to  our  Lady  of  Walsing- 
ham, where  before  he  made  his  vows."  Spelman  gives  on  hearsay 
evidence  the  report  that  Henry  VIII.,  in  the  second  year  of  his 
reign,  walked  barefoot  to  Walsingham  from  a  neighbouring  village, 
and  then  presented  a  valuable  necklace  to  the  image.     Bartholo- 


*  See  at  the  end  of  this  ballad  an  account  of  the  annual  offerings 
of  the  Earls  of  Northumberland. 

[t  In  the  Folio  MS.  is  the  following  note  by  Percy : — "  Since 
I  first  transcribed  this  song  for  the  press  part  of  the  leaf  has  been 
worne  away.  It  was  once  exactly  as  I  have  represented  it  in  my 
book."     Ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall,  vol.  iii.  p.  526.] 


SS  GENTLE    HERDSMAN, 

mew,  Lord  Burghersh,  K.  G.,  by  his  will  made  in  1369,  ordered  a 
statue  of  himself  on  horseback  to  be  made  in  silver,  and  offered 
to  our  Lady  of  Walsingham  ;  and  Henry  VII.,  in  his  lifetime,  gave 
a  kneeling  figure  of  himself.  There  are  numerous  references  to 
Walsingham  in  the  Paston  Letters,  and  in  1443  we  find  Margaret 
Paston  writing  to  her  husband  to  tell  him  that  her  mother  had 
vowed  another  image  of  wax  of  his  own  weight,  to  "  our  Lady  of 
Walsingham,"  and  that  she  herself  had  vowed  to  go  on  pilgrimage 
there  for  him.     (Ed.  Fenn,  iii.  22.) 

The  total  income  of  the  place  (including  the  offerings)  was  re- 
ported to  be  ;£65o  in  the  twenty-sixth  year  of  Henry  VIII.'s 
reign,  and  Roger  Ascham,  when  visiting  Cologne  in  1550,  makes 
this  remark :  "  The  Three  Kings  be  not  so  rich,  I  believe,  as  was 
the  Lady  of  Walsingham."  Now  the  treasures  at  Cologne  are 
said  to  have  been  worth  six  millions  of  francs  (;^24o,ooo). 

The  road  to  Walsingham  was  a  well-frequented  one,  and  a  cross 
was  set  up  in  every  town  it  passed  through.  An  old  track  running 
by  Newmarket,  Brandon,  and  Castle  Acre,  which  was  used  by  the 
pilgrims,  was  known  as  the  "Palmer's  Way"  or  "Walsingham 
Green  Way." 

The  Milky  Way  ("the  Watling-street  of  the  heavens,"  as  Chaucer 
has  it)  has  been  associated  with  pilgrimages  in  several  countries. 
In  Norfolk,  the  long  streaming  path  of  light  was  supposed  to 
point  the  pilgrim  on  his  road  to  Walsingham,  and  was  in  conse- 
quence called  the  "  Walsingham  Way."  In  Italy,  in  France,  and 
in  the  north  of  Europe  it  has  been  called  "  St.  Jago's  Way," 
"  Jacobsstrasse,"  &c.,  as  pointing  the  way  to  Compostella,  and  one 
of  its  Turkish  names  is  "  The  Hadji's  Way,"  as  indicating  the 
«:oad  to  Mecca.^ 

Among  the  Rawlinson  MSS.  in  the  Bodleian  Library  is  A 
La7nent  for  Walsinghain,  in  the  handwriting  of  Philip,  Earl  of 
Arundel,  the  third  stanza  of  which  is  as  follows : 

*'  Bitter,  bitter,  oh !  to  behould 

the  grasse  to  growe 
Where  the  walles  of  Walsingam 

So  statly  did  sheue. 
Such  were  the  workes  of  Walsingam 

While  shee  did  stand ! 
Such  are  the  wrackes  as  now  do  shewe 

of  that  holy  land  ! 
Levell,  Levell  with  the  ground 

the  towres  doe  lye." 


\}  R.  J.  King's  Sketches  and  Studies ^  1874,  p.  262.] 


TELL    TO    ME,  89 

The  whole  poem  is  printed  in  the  Foh'o  MS.  ed.  Hales  and 
Fumivall,  vol.  iii.  p.  470. 

The  late  Mr.  John  Gough  Nichols  published  in  1849  a  very  in- 
teresting volume,  containing  a  translation  of  the  Colloquy  of  Eras- 
mus ^  with  valuable  notes  in  illustration  of  it,  under  the  following 
title :  "  Pilgrimages  to  Saint  Mary  of  Walsingham  and  Saint 
Thomas  of  Canterbury,  by  Desiderius  Erasmus,  newly  translated 
.  .  .  and  illustrated  by  J.  G.  Nichols.  Westminster.  1849." 
sm.  8vo.    This  work  has  lately  been  reprinted. 

An  excellent  description  of  Walsingham  Priory,  with  an  account 
of  the  excavations  made  on  its  site  in  1853,  will  be  found  in 
Henry  Harrod's  Gleanings  a7?iong  the  Castles  a?zd  Convents  of  Nor- 
folk j  8vo.  Norwich,  1857,  pp.  155-197.] 


ENTLE  heardsman,  tell  to  me, 
Of  curtesy  I  thee  pray, 
Unto  the  towne  of  Walsingham 
Which  is  the  right  and  ready  way. 

•'  Unto  the  towne  of  Walsingham  s 

The  way  is  hard  for  to  be  gon  ; 
And  verry  crooked  are  those  pathes 

For  you  to  find  out  all  alone." 

Weere  the  miles  doubled  thrise, 

And  the  way  never  soe  ill,  i-a 

Itt  were  not  enough  for  mine  offence ; 

Itt  is  soe  grievous  and  soe  ill. 

"  Thy  yeeares  are  young,  thy  face  is  faire. 

Thy  witts  are  weake,  thy  thoughts  are  greene  ; 

Time  hath  not  given  thee  leave,  as  yett,  15 

For  to  committ  so  great  a  sinne." 

Yes,  heardsman,  yes,  soe  woldest  thou  say, 

If  thou  knewest  soe  much  as  I  ; 
My  witts,  and  thoughts,  and  all  the  rest, 

Have  well  deserved  for  to  dye.  to 


90  GENTLE    HERDSMAN, 

I  am  not  what  I  seeme  to  bee, 

My  clothes  and  sexe  doe  differ  farr : 

I  am  a  woman,  woe  is  me  ! 

Born^  to  greeffe  and  irksome  care. 

For  my  beloved,  and  well-beloved,  %s 

My  wayward  cruelty  could  kill : 
And  though  my  teares  will  nought  avail, 
Most  dearely  I  bewail  him.  still. 

He  was  the  flow  er  o/noh\Q  wights, 

None  ever  more  sincere  colde  bee  ;  30 

0/ comely  mien  and  shape  hee  was. 

And  tenderly e  he&  loved  mee. 

When  thus  I  saw  he  loY^d  me  well, 
Igrewe  so  proud  his  pamQ  to  see. 

That  /,  who  did  not  know  myselfe,  35 

Thought  scorne  of  such  a  youth  as  hee. 

*And  grew  soe  coy  and  nice  to  please. 
As  women's  lookes  are  often  soe. 


*  Three  of  the  following  stanzas  have  been  finely  paraphrased 
by  Dr.  Goldsmith^  in  his  charming  ballad  of  Edwin  aiid  Emma; 
the  reader  of  taste  will  have  a  pleasure  in  comparing  them  with  the 
original. 

"  *  And '  still  I  try'd  each  fickle  art, 

Importunate  and  vain ; 
And  while  his  passion  touched  my  heart, 
I  triumph'd  in  his  pain. 

"  'Till  quite  dejected  with  my  scorn, 

He  left  me  to  my  pride , 
And  sought  a  solitude  forlorn, 

In  secret,  where  he  dy'd. 

"  But  mine  the  sorrow,  mine  the  fault. 
And  well  my  life  shall  pay; 


[*  Mr.  Furnivall  suggests  a  preyJ] 


TELL    TO    ME.  qi 

He  might  not  kisse,  nor  hand  forsooth, 

Unlesse  I  willed  him  soe  to  doe.  4q 

Thus  being  wearyed  with  delayes 

To  see  I  pittyed  not  his  greeffe, 
He  gott  him  to  a  secrett  place, 

And  there  he  dyed  without  releeffe. 

And  for  his  sake  these  weeds  I  weare,  ^1.5 

And  sacrifice  my  tender  age  ; 
And  every  day  He  begg  my  bread, 

To  undergoe  this  pilgrimage. 

Thus  every  day  I  fast  and  pray, 

And  ever  will  doe  till  I  dye  ;  50 

And  gett  me  to  some  secrett  place, 

For  soe  did  hee,  and  soe  will  I. 

Now,  gentle  heardsman,  aske  no  more, 
But  keepe  my  secretts  I  thee  pray  ; 

Unto  the  towne  of  Walsingam  55 

Show  me  the  right  and  readye  way. 

"  Now  goe  thy  wayes,  and  God  before ! 

For  he  must  ever  guide  thee  still : 
Turne  downe  that  dale,  the  right  hand  patli. 

And  soe,  faire  pilgrim,  fare  thee  well !  "  60 

*^^*  To  shew  what  constant  tribute  was  paid  to  Our  Lady  0/ 
Walszngham,  I  shall  give  a  few  extracts  from  the  ^''  Houshold-Book 
of  Henry  Algernon  Percy,  5th  Earl  of  Northumberland."  Printed 
1770,  8vo. 

I'll  seek  the  solitude  he  sought, 
And  stretch  me  where  he  lay. 

"  And  there  forlorn  despairing  hid, 

I'll  lay  me  down  and  die  : 
'Twas  so  for  me  that  Edwin  did 

And  so  for  him  will  I." 

[Goldsmith  did  not  follow  the  last  two  verses,  but  made  his 
ending  much  more  sentimental  than  that  of  the  old  ballad.] 


92         KING    EDWARD    IV.    AND 

Sect,  xliii.  p.  337,  &c. 

Item,  My  Lorde  usith  yerly  to  send  afor  Michaelmas  for  his  Lord- 
schip's  Offerynge  to  our  Lady  ofWalsyngeham. — iiijA. 

Jtem,  My  Lorde  usith  ande  accustumyth  to  sende  yerely  for  the 
upholdynge  of  the  Light  of  Wax  which  his  Lordschip  fyndith 
birnynge  yerly  befor  our  Lady  of  Walsyngham,  contenynge  ^*lb. 
of  Wax  in  it  after  vij  ^.  ob.  for  the  fyndynge  of  every  lb.  redy 
wrought  by  a  covenaunt  maid  with  the  Channon  by  great,  for 
the  hole  yere,  for  the  fyndinge  of  the  said  Lyght  byrnning, — 
z//s.  viiij  di. 

Item,  My  Lord  useth  and  accustom! th  to  syende  yerely  to  the 
Channon  that  kepith  the  Light  before  our  Lady  of  Walsyngham, 
for  his  reward  for  the  hole  yere,  for  kepynge  of  the  said  Light, 
lightynge  of  it  at  all  service  tymes  dayly  thorowt  the  yere, — 
xij  di. 

liefUy  My  Lord  usith  and  accustomyth  yerely  to  send  to  the  Prest 
that  kepith  the  Light,  lyghtynge  of  it  at  all  service  tymes  daily 
thorowt  the  yere, — itjs.  iujd.. 


XV. 

K.    EDWARD    IV.   AND    TANNER    OF 
TAMWORTH 

JAS  a  story  of  great  fame  among  our  ancestors.  The 
author  of  the  Art  of  E7iglish  poesie,  1589,  4to,  seems  to 
speak  of  it  as  a  real  fact. — Describing  that  vicious  mode 
of  speech,  which  the  Greeks  called  Acyj'Oft,  i,  e.  "  When 
we  use  a  dark  and  obscure  word,  utterly  repugnant  to  that  we 
should  express  ;"  he  adds,  "Such  manner  of  uncouth  speech  did 
the  Tanner  of  Tamworth  use  to  king  Edward  the  fourth ;  which 
Tanner,  having  a  great  while  mistaken  him,  and  used  very  broad 
talke  with  him,  at  length  perceiving  by  his  traine  that  it  was  the 
king,  was  afraide  he  should  be  punished  for  it,  [and]  said  thus, 
with  a  certain  rude  repentance, 

*  I  hope  I  shall  be  hanged  to-morrotu* 

for  [I  feare  me']  I  shall  be  hanged;  whereat  the  king  laughed  a 
good,*  not  only  to  see  the  Tanner's  vaine  feare,  but  also  to  heare 

[*  for  good  deal.] 


TANNER    OF   TAMWORTH,       93 

his  illshapen  tenne :  and  gave  him  for  recompence  of  his  good 
sport,  the  inheritance  of  Plumpton-parke.  /  a77t  afraid^^^  con- 
cludes tliis  sagacious  writer,  ^^  the  poets  of  our  times  that  speake  more 
finely  a?id  correctedly^  will  come  too  short  of  such  a  re^va^'d"  p.  214. — 
The  phrase,  here  referred  to,  is  not  found  in  this  ballad  at  present,* 
but  occurs  with  some  variation  in  another  old  poem,  intitledyi?//!« 
the  Reeve,  described  in  the  following  volume  (see  the  Preface  to 
tJie  King  and  the  Miller),^  viz. 

"  Nay,  sayd  John,  by  Gods  grace, 

And  Edward  wer  in  this  place, 

Hee  shold  not  touch  this  tonne : 
He  wold  be  wroth  with  John  I  hope, 
Therefifore  I  beshrew  the  soupe, 

That  in  his  mouth  shold  come."     Pt.  ii.  st.  24. 

The  following  text  is  selected  (with  such  other  corrections  as 
occurred)  from  two  copies  in  black-letter.  The  one  in  the  Bod- 
leyan  library,  intitled,  *'  A  merrie,  pleasant,  and  delectable  historic 
betweene  K.  Edward  the  Fourth,  and  a  Tanner  of  Tamworth,  &c. 
printed  at  London,  by  John  Danter,  1596."  This  copy,  ancient  as 
it  now  is,  appears  to  have  been  modernized  and  altered  at  the  time 
it  was  published ;  and  many  vestiges  of  the  more  ancient  readings 
were  recovered  from  another  copy,  (though  more  recently  pnnted,) 
in  one  sheet  folio,  without  date,  in  the  Pepys  collection. 

But  these  are  both  very  inferior  in  point  of  antiquity  to  the  old 
ballad  of  27ie  King  and  the  Barker,  reprinted  with  other  "  Pieces 
of  Ancient  Popular  Poetry  from  Authentic  Manuscripts  and  old 
Printed  Copies,  &c."  Lond.  1791,  8vo.  As  that  very  antique 
Poem  had  never  occurred  to  the  Editor  of  the  Reliques,  till  he 
saw  it  in  the  above  collection,  he  now  refers  the  curious  reader  to 
it,  as  an  imperfect  and  incorrect  copy  of  the  old  original  ballad. 

[This  ballad  was  a  great  favourite  with  our  ancestors  and  is 
probably  of  consider. ible  antiquity. 

The  earliest  entry  of  it  upon  the  Registers  of  the  Stationers* 
Company  is  to  William  Griffith  in  1564,  but  no  such  edition  is 
known  to  bibliographers.  It  is  possible,  however,  that  Puttenham 
may  have  found  the  line  quoted  above — 

**  I  hope  I  shall  be  hanged  to-morrow  " 

in  that  edition. 

It  belongs  to  the  large  class  of  tales  in  which  the  sovereign  is 

*  Nor  in  that  of  the  Barker  mentioned  below. 
[t  Vol.  iii.  Book  2,  No.  20.] 


94         KING    EDWARD    IV.    AND 

made  to  converse  on  terms  of  good  fellowship  with  a  humble  sub- 
ject. 

The  interesting  ballad  oi  John  the  Reeve  referred  to  by  Percy  is 
printed  for  the  first  time  in  Hales  and  Furnivall's  edition  of  the 
Folio  Manuscript  (vol.  ii.  p.  550.) 

The  Tanner  of  Tamworth  is  introduced  into  the  first  part  of 
Heywood's  Edward  IV.  The  ballad  Unde}-  the  greenwood  tj'ee, 
among  the  Ashmole"  MSS.  at  Oxford,  Robin  Hood  and  the  Curial 
Friar,  and  Robin  Hood  and  the  Monk,  all  begin  with  the  same 
words  as  this  ballad — 

"  In  summer  time  when  leaves  grow  green." 

The  present  version  is  an  eclectic  copy,  polished  and  reversified  by 
Percy.] 


N  summer  time,  when  leaves  grow  greene, 
And  blossoms  bedecke  the  tree, 
King  Edward  wolde  a  hunting  ryde, 
Some  pastime  for  to  see. 

With  hawke  and  hounde  he  made  him  bowne,^     5 

With  home,  and  eke  with  bowe ; 
To  Drayton  Basset  he  tooke  his  waye, 

With  all  his  lordes  a  rowe. 

And  he  had  ridden  ore  dale  and  downe 

By  eight  of  clocke  in  the  day,  10 

When  he  was  ware  of  a  bold  tanner, 
Come  ryding  along  the  waye. 

A  fayre  russet  coat  the  tanner  had  on 

Fast  buttoned  under  his  chin. 
And  under  him  a  good  cow-hide,  15 

And  a  mare  of  four  shilling.* 

*  In  the  reign  of  Edward  IV.  Dame  Cecill,  lady  of  Torboke,  in 
her  will  dated  March  7,  a.d.  1466;   among  many  other  bequests 

[^  ready.] 


TANNER    OF    TAMWORTH.        95 

Nowe  stand  you  still,  my  good  lordes  all, 

Under  the  grene  wood  spraye ; 
And  I  will  wend  to  yonder  fellowe. 

To  weet^  what  he  will  saye.  ic 

God  speede,  God  speede  thee,  said  our  king, 

Thou  art  welcome,  sir,  sayd  hee. 
"  The  readyest  waye  to  Drayton  Basset 

I  praye  thee  to  shewe  to  mee." 

**  To  Drayton  Basset  woldst  thou  goe,  25 

Fro  the  place  where  thou  dost  stand  ? 

The  next  payre  of  gallowes  thou  comest  unto, 
Turne  in  upon  thy  right  hand." 

That  is  an  unreadye  waye,  sayd  our  king, 

Thou  doest  but  jest  I  see  :  30 

Nowe  shewe  me  out  the  nearest  waye, 
And  I  pray  thee  wend  with  mee. 

Awaye  with  a  vengeance  !  quoth  the  tanner : 

I  hold  thee  out  of  thy  witt : 
All  daye  have  I  rydden  on  Brocke  my  mare,       35 

And  I  am  fasting  yett. 

"  Go  with  me  downe  to  Drayton  Basset, 

No  daynties  we  will  spare  ; 
All  daye  shalt  thou  eate  and  drinke  of  the  best, 

And  I  will  paye  thy  fare."  40 

Gramercye^  for  nothing,  the  tanner  replyde, 

Thou  payest  no  fare  of  mine  : 
I  trowe  I've  more  nobles  in  my  purse, 

Than  thou  hast  pence  in  thine. 


has  this,  ''  Also  I  will  that  my  sonne  Thomas  of  Torboke  have 
13J.  Afd.  to  buy  him  an  horse.'''  Vid.  Harleian  Catalog.  2176.  27. — 
Now  if  i3i".  4^.  would  purchase  a  steed  fit  for  a  person  of  quality, 
a  tanner's  horse  might  reasonably  be  valued  at  four  or  five  shil- 
lings. 

\}  know.  ^  thank  you.] 


96         KING   EDWARD   IV.    AND 

God  give  thee  joy  of  them,  sayd  the  king,  45 

And  send  them  well  to  prlefe.^ 
The  tanner  wolde  faine  have  beene  away, 

For  he  weende  he  had  beene  a  thiefe. 

What  art  thou,  hee  sayde,  thou  line  fellowc, 

Of  thee  I  am  in  great  feare,  50 

For  the  cloathes,  thou  wearest  upon  thy  backe, 
Might  beseeme  a  lord  to  weare. 

I  never  stole  them,  quoth  our  king, 

I  tell  you,  sir,  by  the  roode. 
"  Then  thou  playest,  as  many  an  unthrift  doth,    <$ 

And  standest  in  midds  of  thy  goode."* 

What  tydinges  heare  you,  sayd  the  kynge, 

As  you  ryde  farre  and  neare? 
"  I  heare  no  tydinges,  sir,  by  the  masse, 

But  that  cowe-hides  are  deare."  6c 

"  Cowe-hides  !  cowe-hides  !  what  things  are  those  ? 

I  marvell  what  they  bee?" 
What  art  thou  a  foole  ?  the  tanner  reply'd; 

I  carry  one  under  mee. 

What  craftsman  art  thou,  said  the  king,  65 

I  praye  thee  tell  me  trowe. 
"  I  am  a  barker,t  sir,  by  my  trade ; 

Nowe  tell  me  what  art  thou  ?  " 

I  am  a  poore  courtier,  sir,  quoth  he. 

That  am  forth  of  service  worne  ;  70 

And  faine  I  wolde  thy  prentise  bee, 

Thy  cunninge  for  to  learne. 


*  i.e.  hast  no  other  wealth,  but  what  thou  earnest  about  thee. 
\  i.e.  a  dealer  in  bark. 

\}  prove.] 


TANNER    OF    TAMWORTH.       97 

Marrye  heaven  forfend,^  the  tanner  replyde, 

That  thou  my  prentise  were  : 
Thou  woldst  spend  more  good  than  I  shold  winne  ts 

By  fortye  shiUing  a  yere. 

Yet  one  thinge  wolde  I,  sayd  our  king, 

If  thou  wilt  not  seeme  strange  : 
Thoughe  my  horse  be  better  than  thy  mare, 

Yet  with  thee  I  faine  wold  change.  80 

**  Why  if  with  me  thou  faine  wilt  change, 

As  change  full  well  maye  wee, 
By  the  faith  of  my  bodye,  thou  proude  fellowe, 

I  will  have  some  boot^  of  thee." 

That  were  against  reason,  sayd  the  king,  85 

I  sweare,  so  mote  I  thee  :^ 
My  horse  is  better  than  thy  mare. 

And  that  thou  well  mayst  see. 

"  Yea,  sir,  but  Brocke  is  gentle  and  mild. 

And  softly  she  will  fare  :  90 

Thy  horse  is  unrulye  and  wild,  I  wiss  ; 
Aye  skipping  here  and  theare." 

What  boote  wilt  thou  have  ?  our  king  reply'd  ; 

Now  tell  me  in  this  stound."* 
*'  Noe  pence,  nor  half  pence,  by  my  faye,  .   95 

But  a  noble  in  gold  so  round." 

*'  Here's  twentye  groates  of  white  moneye, 

Sith  thou  will  have  it  of  mee." 
I  would  have  sworne  now,  quoth  the  tanner, 

Thou  hadst  not  had  one  pennie.  100 


p  avert  it.  ^  profit.  '  so  may  I  thrive. 

■*  moment.] 

2  H 


98  KING    EDWARiy   IV,    AND 

But  since  we  two  have  made  a  change, 

A  change  we  must  abide, 
Although  thou  hast  gotten  Brocke  my  marc, 

Thou  gettest  not  my  cowe-hide. 

I  will  not  have  it,  sayd  the  kynge,  105 

I  sweare,  so  mought  I  thee  ; 
Thy  foule  cowe-hide  I  wolde  not  beare, 

If  thou  woldst  give  it  to  mee. 

The  tanner  hee  tooke  his  good  cowe-hide, 

That  of  the  cow  was  hilt ;  no 

And  threwe  it  upon  the  king's  sadelle, 
That  was  soe  fayrelye  gilte. 

*'  Now  help  me  up,  thou  fine  fellowe, 

*Tis  time  that  I  were  ofone  : 
When  I  come  home  to  Gyllian  my  wife,  115 

Sheel  say  I  am  a  gentilmon." 

The  king  he  tooke  him  up  by  the  legge  ; 

The  tanner  a  f  **  lett  fall. 
Nowe  marrye,  good  fellowe,  sayd  the  kyng. 

Thy  courtesye  is  but  small.  izo 

When  the  tanner  he  was  in  the  kinges  sadelle. 

And  his  foote  in  the  stirrup  was  ; 
He  marvelled  greatlye  in  his  minde. 

Whether  it  were  golde  or  brass. 

But  when  his  steede  saw  the  cows  taile  wagge,  125 

And  eke  the  blacke  cowe-horne  ; 
He  stamped,  and  stared,  and  awaye  he  ranne, 

As  the  devill  had  him  borne. 

The  tanner  he  pulkl,  the  tanner  he  sweat, 

And  held  by  the  pummil  fast  :  130 

At  length  the  tanner  came  tumbling  downe ; 
His  nccke  he  had  well-nye  brast.^ 

[*  l)roken.] 


I 


TANNER    OF    TAMWORTH.        99 

Take  thy  horse  again  with  a  vengeance,  he  sayd, 

With  mee  he  shall  not  byde. 
*'  My  horse  wolde  have  borne  thee  well  enoughe,  135 

But  he  knewe  not  of  thy  cowe-hide. 

Yet  if  againe  thou  faine  woldst  change, 

As  change  full  well  may  wee, 
By  the  faith  of  my  bodye,  thou  jolly  tanner, 

I  will  have  some  boote  of  thee."  140 

What  boote  wilt  thou  have,  the  tanner  replyd, 

Nowe  tell  me  in  this  stounde  ? 
'*  Noe  pence  nor  halfpence,  sir,  by  my  faye, 

But  I  will  have  twentye  pound." 

**  Here's  twentye  groates  out  of  my  purse  ;  145 

And  twentye  I  have  of  thine : 
And  I  have  one  more,  which  we  will  spend 

Together  at  the  wine. " 

The  king  set  a  bugle  home  to  his  mouthe. 

And  blewe  both  loude  and  shrille:  150 

And  soone  came  lords,  and  soone  came  knights, 
Fast  ryding  over  the  hille. 

Nowe,  out  alas  !  the  tanner  he  cryde. 

That  ever  I  sawe  this  daye  ! 
Thou  art  a  strong  thiefe,  yon  come  thy  fellowes  155 

Will  beare  my  cowe-hide  away. 

They  are  no  thieves,  the  king  replyde, 

1  sweare,  soe  mote  I  thee  : 
But  they  are  the  lords  of  the  north  countrey, 

Here  come  to  hunt  with  mee.  160 

And  soone  before  our  king  they  came, 

And  knelt  downe  on  the  grounde  : 
Then  might  the  tanner  have  beene  awaye, 

He  had  lever  than  twentye  pounde. 


lOO  KING    EDWARD   IV. 

A  coller,  a  coller,  here :  sayd  the  king,  165 

A  coller  he  loud  gan  crye ; 
Then  woulde  he  lever  then  twentye  pound, 

He  had  not  beene  so  nighe. 

A  coller,  a  coller,  the  tanner  he  sayd, 

I  trowe  it  will  breed  sorrowe  :  1 7<» 

After  a  coller  commeth  a  halter, 

I  trow  I  shall  be  hang'd  to-morrowe. 

Be  not  afraid  Tanner,  said  our  king ; 

I  tell  thee,  so  mought  I  thee, 
Lo  here  I  make  thee  the  best  esquire  175 

That  is  in  the  North  countrie.* 

For  Plumpton-parke  I  will  give  thee, 

With  tenements  faire  beside  : 
*Tis  worth  three  hundred  markes  by  the  yeare, 

To  maintaine  thy  good  cowe-hide.  180 

Gramercye,  my  liege,  the  tanner  replyde, 
For  the  favour  thou  hast  me  showne  ; 

If  ever  thou  comest  to  merry  Tamworth, 

Neates  leather  shall  clout  thy  shoen.'  -i^^,* 


*  This  stanza  is  restored  from  a  quotation  of  this  ballad  in 
Selden's  Titles  of  Honour,  who  produces  it  as  a  good  authority 
to  prove,  that  one  mode  of  creating  Esquires  at  that  time,  was  by 
the  imposition  of  a  Collar.  His  words  are,  "  Nor  is  that  old 
pamphlet  of  the  Tanner  of  Tamworth  and  King  Edward  the 
Fourth  so  contemptible,  but  that  wee  may  thence  note  also  an 
observable  passage,  wherein  the  use  of  making  Esquires,  by  giving 
Collars,  is  expressed."  (Sub  Tit.  Esquire;  &  vide  in  Spelmanni 
Glossar.  Armiger.)  This  form  of  creating  Esquires  actually  exists 
at  this  day  among  the  Serjeants  at  Arms,  who  are  invested  with  a 
Collar  (which  they  wear  on  Collar  Days)  by  the  King  himself. 

This  information  I  owe  to  Samuel  Pegge,  Esq.  to  whom  the 
publick  is  indebted  for  that  curious  work  the  Curialia,  4to. 

['  cow  hide  shall  mend  thy  shoes.] 


THE    HOLY   LAND.  loi 


XVI. 

AS  YE  CAME  FROM  THE  HOLY  LAND. 

Dialogue  between  a  Pilgrim  and  Traveller. 

'HE  scene  of  this  song  is  the  same  as  in  Num.  XIV.   The 
pilgrimage  to  Walsingham  suggested  the  plan  of  many- 
popular  pieces.     In  the  Pepys  collection,  vol.  i.  p.  226, 
is  a  kind  of  Interlude  in  the  old  ballad  style,  of  which 
the  first  stanza  alone  is  worth  reprinting. 

*'As  I  went  to  Walsingham, 

To  the  shrine  with  speede, 
Met  I  with  a  jolly  palmer 

In  a  pilgrimes  weede. 
Now  God  you  save,  you  jolly  palmer! 

'  Welcome,  lady  gay. 
Oft  have  I  sued  to  thee  for  love.' 

— Oft  have  I  said  you  nay." 

The  pilgrimages  undertaken  on  pretence  of  religion,  were  often 
productive  of  affairs  of  gallantry,  and  led  the  votaries  to  no  other 
shrine  than  that  of  Venus.* 

The  following  ballad  was  once  very  popular;  it  is  quoted 
in  Fletcher's  Knt.  of  the  burning  pestle^  act  ii.  sc.  ult.  and  in 
another  old  play,  called,  Hans  Beer -pot  ^  his  invisible  Comedy, 
^c.  4to.  1618;  act  i. — The  copy  below  was  communicated  to  the 
Editor  by  the  late  Mr,  Shenstone  as  corrected  by  him  from  an 
ancient  copy,  and  supplied  with  a  concluding  stanza. 

We  have  placed  this,  and  Gentle  Herdsman,  &c.  thus  early  in 
the  volume,  upon  a  presumption  that  they  must  have  been  written, 

*  Even  in  the  time  of  Langland,  pilgrimages  to  Walsingham 
were  not  unfavourable  to  the  rites  of  Venus.  Thus  in  his  Visions 
iff  Pierce  Plowman^  fo.  i . 

"  Hermets  on  a  heape,  with  hoked  staves, 
Wenten  to  Walsingham,  and  herf  wenches  after." 

t  i.e.  their. 


I02  AS    YE    CAME    FROM 

if  not  before  the  dissolution  of  the  monasteries,  yet  while  the  re- 
membrance of  them  was  fresh  in  the  minds  of  the  people. 

[Although  Percy  does  not  mention  his  folio  MS.  this  song  is  there, 
and  a  copy  from  it  is  now  printed  at  the  end  of  Percy's  version. 
With  the  exception  of  the  last  three  lines  there  are  little  but  verbal 
differences,  but  these  are  numerous.  The  ending  is  strikingly  in- 
ferior to  that  of  the  MS.  and  does  very  little  credit  to  Shenstone's 
poetical  taste.  A  copy  of  the  song  in  the  Bodleian  hbrary  (MS. 
Rawl.  85  fol.  124)  is  signed  W.  R.,  and  Dr.  Bliss  in  consequence 
claimed  it  for  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  in  his  edition  of  Wood's  Athence. 
It  is  inserted  in  the  Oxford  edition  of  Raleigh's  Works,  vol.  viii. 
p.  733,  with  the  title — False  Love  ajzd  True  Love.  Dr.  Hannah 
also  includes  it  in  his  edition  of  the  Courtly  Poets,  but  believes 
it  highly  improbable  that  Raleigh  wrote  the  song. 

Mr.  Chappell  points  out  that  the  first  line  of  the  ballad  quoted 
above  is  introduced  in  Nashe's  Have  with  you  to  Saffron  Walden, 
1596      In  The  Weakest  goes  to  the  Wall,  1600,  we  read 

"  King  Richard's  gone  to  Walsingham,  to  the  Holy  Land." 

The  tune  of  Walsinghain  was  highly  popular,  and  numerous  songs 
have  been  set  to  it.] 


S  ye  came  from  the  holy  land 

Of  blessed  Walsingham, 
O  met  you  not  with  my  true  love 
As  by  the  way  ye  came  .^ 

"  How  should  I  know  your  true  love, 

That  have  met  many  a  one, 
As  I  came  from  the  holy  land. 

That  have  both  come  and  gone  .^ " 

My  love  is  neither  white*,  nor  browne. 

But  as  the  heavens  faire ; 
There  is  none  hath  her  form  divine, 

Either  in  earth,  or  ay  re. 

*  sc.  ]iale. 


!• 


THE    irOLY   LAND.  103 

**  Such  an  one  did  1  meet,  good  sir, 

With  an  angeHcke  face  ; 
Who  Hke  a  nymphe,  a  queene  appeard  15 

Both  in  her  gait,  her  grace." 

Yes  :  she  hath  cleane  forsaken  me. 

And  left  me  all  alone  ; 
Who  some  time  loved  me  as  her  life,  ' 

And  called  me  her  owne.  1^ 

"  What  is  the  cause  she  leaves  thee  thus, 

And  a  new  way  doth  take. 
That  some  times  loved  thee  as  her  life, 

And  thee  her  joy  did  make  ?  " 

I  that  loved  her  all  my  youth,  as 

Growe  old  now  as  you  see ; 
Love  liketh  not  the  falling  fruite, 

Nor  yet  the  withered  tree. 

For  love  is  like  a  carelesse  childe, 

Forgetting  promise  past :  30 

He  is  blind,  or  deaf,  whenere  he  list ; 

His  faith  is  never  fast. 

His  fond  desire  is  fickle  found, 

And  yieldes  a  trustlesse  joye  ; 
Wonne  with  a  world  of  toil  and  care,  35 

And  lost  ev'n  with  a  toye. 

Such  is  the  love  of  womankinde. 

Or  Loves  faire  name  abusde, 
Beneathe  which  many  vaine  desires, 

And  follyes  are  excusde.  40 

But  true  love  is  a  lasting  fire, 
[Which  viewless  vestals  *  tend, 
That  burnes  for  ever  in  the  soule, 
And  knowes  nor  change,  nor  end.'] 


*** 


sc.  angels. 


I04  AS    YE    CAME   FROM 


HE  following  version  is  reprinted  from  the  Folio   MS. 
(ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall,  vol.  iii.  p.  47  i.) 

"  As  :  yee  came  ffrom  the  holy  Land 

of  Walsingham, 
Mett  you  not  with  my  true  loue 

by  the  way  as  you  came  ?  "  \ 

"  how  shold  I  know  your  true  loue, 

that  haue  mett  many  a  one 
as  I  cam  firom  the  holy  Land, 

that  haue  come,  that  haue  gone  ?  ''  8 

**Shee  is  neither  white  nor  browne, 

but  as  the  heauens  ffaire ; 
there  is  none  hathe  their  (forme  diuiue 

on  the  earth  or  the  ayre."  12 

"  such  a  one  did  I  meete,  good  Sir, 

with  an  angellike  fface, 
who  like  a  nimph,  like  a  queene,  did  appeare 

in  her  gate,  in  her  grace."  16 

"  Shee  hath  left  me  heere  alone, 

all  alone  as  vnknowne, 
who  sometime  loued  me  as  her  liffe 

and  called  me  her  owne,"  20 

"What  is  the  cause  shee  hath  left  thee  alone, 

and  a  new  way  doth  take, 
that  sometime  did  loue  thee  as  her  selfe, 

and  her  ioy  did  thee  make  ? "  24 

"  I  haue  loued  her  all  my  youth, 

but  now  am  old,  as  you  see. 
loue  liketh  not  the  ffalling  ffruite 

nor  the  whithered  tree ;  28 

for  loue  is  like  a  carlesse  child, 

and  fforgetts  promise  past : 
he  is  blind,  he  is  deaffe  when  he  list, 

and  in  faith  neuer  ffast ;  3a 

"his  desire  is  ffickle,  ffond, 

and  a  trusties  ioye  ; 
he  is  Avon  with  a  world  of  dispayre, 

and  lost  with  a  toye.  36 


THE    HOLY  LAND, 

such  is  the  [fate  of  all  manj  kind, 

or  the  word  loiie  abused, 
under  which  many  childish  desires 

and  conccipts  are  excused." 

**  But  loue  is  a  durabler  ffyer 

in  the  mind  euer  Burninge, 

euer  sicke,  neuer  dead,  neuer  cold, 


105 


4.0 


ft'rom  itt  selfe  neuer  turninge. 


ffinis.] 


44 


XVII. 
HARDYKNUTE. 

A    Scottish     Fragment 


'S  this  fine  morsel  of  heroic  poetry  hath  generally  past  for 
ancient,  it  is  here  thrown  to  the  end  of  our  earliest 
pieces ;  that  such  as  doubt  of  its  age,  may  the  better 
compare  it  with  other  pieces  of  genuine  antiquity.  For 
after  all,  there  is  more  than  reason  to  suspect,  that  it  owes  most 
of  its  beauties  (if  not  its  whole  existence)  to  the  pen  of  a  lady, 
within  the  present  century.  The  following  particulars  may  be 
depended  on.  Mrs.  Wardlaw,  whose  maiden  name  was  Hal- 
ket  (aunt  to  the  late  Sir  Peter  Halket,  of  Pitferran,  in  Scot- 
land, who  was  killed  in  America,  along  with  general  Bradock,  in 
1755),  pretended  she  had  found  this  poem,  written  on  shreds  of 
paper,  employed  for  what  is  called  the  bottoms  of  clues.  A  sus- 
picion arose  that  it  was  her  own  composition.  Some  able  judges 
asserted  it  to  be  modern.  The  lady  did  in  a  manner  acknowledge 
it  to  be  so.  Being  desired  to  shew  an  additional  stanza,  as  a  proot 
of  this,  she  produced  the  2  last  beginning  with  ''  There's  nae  light y^ 
&c.  which  were  not  in  the  copy  that  was  first  printed.  The  late 
Lord  President  Forbes,  and  Sir  Gilbert  P^Uiot  of  MInto  (late  Lord 
Justice  Clerk  for  Scotland)  who  had  believed  it  ancient,  contri 
?.mted  to  the  expence  of  publishing  the  first  edition,  in  foho,  17 19. 
— This  account  was  transmitted  from  Scotland  by  Sir  David  Dal- 
rymple,  the  late  Lord  Hailes,  v/ho  yet  was  of  opinion,  that  part  ot 
the  ballad  may  be  ancient ;  but  retouched  and  much  enlarged  by 
the  lady  abovementioned.  Indeed  he  had  been  informed,  that  the 
late  William  Thomson,  the  Scottish  musician,  who  published  the 
Orpheus  Caledonivs,    1733,   2  vols.   8vo.   declared  he  had   heard 


io6  HARDYKNUTE. 

fragments  of  it  repeated  in  his  infancy,  before  Mrs.  Wardlaw's 
copy  was  heard  of. 

The  poem  is  here  printed  from  the  original  edition,  as  it  was 
prepared  for  the  press  with  the  additional  improvements. 

In  an  elegant  publication,  intitled,  Scottish  Tragic  Ballads^ 
printed  by  and  for  J.  Nichols,  1781,  8vo.  may  be  seen  a  continua- 
tion of  the  Ballad  of  Hai'dykmUe,  by  the  addition  of  a  Seco?id  Pari, 
which  hath  since  been  acknowledged  to  be  his  own  composition, 
by  the  ingenious  Editor  [John  Pinkerton] — To  whom  the  late  Sir 
D.  Dalrymple  communicated  (subsequent  to  the  account  drawn  up 
above)  extracts  of  a  letter  from  Sir  John  Bruce,  of  Kinross,  to  Lord 
Binning,  which  plainly  proves  the  pretended  discoverer  of  the  frag- 
ment of  Hardyknute  to  have  been  Sir  John  Bruce  himself.  His 
words  are,  "  To  perform  my  promise,  I  send  you  a  true  copy  ot 
the  Manuscript  I  found  some  weeks  ago  in  a  vault  at  Dumferline. 
It  is  written  on  vellum  in  a  fair  Gothic  character,  but  so  mucli 
defaced  by  time,  as  you'll  find  that  the  tenth  part  is  not  legible." 
He  then  gives  the  whole  fragment  as  it  was  first  pubfished  in  17 19, 
save  one  or  two  stanzas,  marking  several  passages  as  having 
perished  by  being  illegible  in  the  old  MS.  Hence  it  appears, 
that  Sir  John  was  the  author  of  Hardykfiiite^  but  afterwards  used 
Mrs.  Wardlaw  to  be  the  midwife  of  his  poetry,  and  suppressed  the 
story  of  the  vault ;  as  is  well  observed  by  the  Editor  of  the  Tragic 
Ballads^  and  of  Maitland's  Scot.  Poets,  vol.  i.  p.  cxxvii. 

To  this  gentleman  we  are  indebted  for  the  use  of  the  copy, 
whence  the  second  edition  was  afterwards  printed,  as  the  same 
was  prepared  for  the  press  by  John  Clerk,  M.D.  of  Edinburgh,  an 
intimate  companion  of  Lord  President  Forbes. 

The  title  of  the  first  edition  was,  "  Hardyknute,  a  Fragment. 
Edinburgh,  printed  for  James  Watson,  &c.  1719,"  folio,  12  pages. 

Stanzas  not  in  the  first  edition  are,  Nos.  17,  18,  20,  21,  22,  23, 

34,  35>  36,  37,  41,^42. 

\r\  the  present  impression  the  orthography  of  Dr.  Clerk's  copy 
has  been  preserved,  and  his  readings  carefully  followed,  except  in 
a  few  instances,  wherein  the  common  edition  appeared  preferable: 
inz.  He  had  in  ver.  20.  but. — v.  56.  of  harm. — v.  64.  every. — v.  67. 
lo  down. — ^.^'^.  77/<:?/ omitted. — v.  89.  ^;z^ omitted. — v.  143.  With 
argument  but  vai?dy  strave  Lang. — v.  148.  say'd. — v.  155.  incampit 
on  the  plai7i. — v.  156.  JVorse  squadjvns. — v.  158.  7'egand  rcvers, — 
v.  170.  his  strides  he  bent. — v.  171.  minsti'als  play  and  PibrocJis  fuie. 
— V.  172.  stately  we?it. — v.  182.  mon. — v.  196.  sharp  and  fatal. — 
v.  219.  which. — V.  241.  stood  wyld. — Stanza  39  preceded  stanza 
38. — V.  305.  There. — v.  313.  blciu  west  ling. — v.  336.  had  originally 
been,  Hefear'd  a'  coii'd  be  fear'' d. 

The  Editor  was  also  informed,  on  the  authority  of  Dr.  David 
Clerk,  M.D.  of  Kdinl^uri^h  (son  of  the  aforesaid  Dr.  John  Clerk), 


HARDYKNUTE.  107 

that  between  the  present  stanzas  -^^d  and  37,  the  two  following  had 
been  intended,  but  were  on  maturer  consideration  omitted,  and  do 
not  now  appear  among  the  MS.  additions  : 

*'  Now  darts  flew  wavering  through  slaw  speed, 

Scarce  could  they  reach  their  aim ; 
Or  reach'd,  scarce  blood  the  round  point  drew, 

^Twas  all  but  shot  in  vain  : 
Right  strengthy  arms  forfeebled  grev/, 

Sair  wreck'd  wi'  that  day's  toils  : 
E'en  fierce-born  minds  now  lang'd  for  peace, 

And  curs'd  war's  cruel  broils. 

"  Yet  still  wars  horns  sounded  to  charge, 

Swords  clash'd  and  harness  rang ; 
But  saftly  sae  ilk  blaster  blew 

The  hills  and  dales  fraemang. 
Nae  echo  heard  in  double  dints, 

Nor  the  lang-winding  horn, 
Nae  mair  she  blew  out  brade  as  she 

Did  eir  that  summers  morn." 

[Elizabeth  Halket,  second  daughter  of  Sir  Charles  Halket  of 
ritfirrane,  Fife,  and  wife  of  Sir  Henry  Wardlaw  of  Pitrivie,  Fife 
and  Balmulie  near  Dunfermline,  who  was  born  in  the  year  1677, 
married  in  1696,  and  died  in  1727,  is  now  known  to  have  been 
the  authoress  of  Hardykjmte,  although  it  was  many  years  before 
the  question  of  the  authorship  was  finally  settled. 

Mr.  David  Laing  once  possessed  a  copy  of  this  ballad  printed 
in  a  duodecimo  of  eight  pages  without  date,  which  is  supposed  to 
be  the  original  edition.  Besides  various  differences,  some  im- 
portant and  others  minute,  it  does  not  contain  stanzas  27,  28  and 
40,  which  are  printed  in  the  folio  of  17 19.  It  was  reprinted  several 
times  before  Percy  included  it  in  his  book,  and  its  antiquity  does 
not  seem  to  have  been  doubted,  for  the  editor  of  the  edition  of 
1740  speaks  of  it  as  a  specimen  of  the  true  sublime,  and  believes 
that  "it  can  only  be  the  work  of  an  author  highly  smitten  with 
the  fury  of  a  poetical  genius."  Allan  Ramsay's  Evergree7i,  1724, 
vol.  ii.  contains  this  ballad  with  the  twelve  additional  stanzas  noted 
above  by  Percy. 

When  Percy  first  printed  the  ballad  suspicions  of  its  authenticity 
had  been  expressed,  which  soon  led  to  the  discoveryof  the  writer,  but 
after  having  stated  who  was  the  real  author,  he  threw  doubts  upon  his 
statement  on  account  of  Pinkerton's  truthless  report.  Pinkerton  was 
never  to  be  depended  upon,  and  he  had  previously  afl^irmed  that 
the  common  people  of  Lana'"V.hire  "repeat  scraps  of  both  parts, ^^ 
although  the  second  was  his  own  x.mposition.   Sir  John  Hope  Bruce 


io8  HARDYKNUTE. 

had  nothing  to  do  with  the  composition  of  the  ballad,  and  it  is  even 
doubtful  whether  his  supposed  letter  to  Lord  Binning  ever  had 
any  existence.  If  it  had,  it  was  merely  a  mystification.  On  the 
second  of  December,  1785,  Lord  Hailes  wrote  to  Pinkerton  as 
follows,  "  You  mistook  if  you  suppose  that  I  reckoned  Sir  John 
Bruce  to  be  the  author  of  Hardyknute.  It  is  his  sister-in-law.  Lady 
Wardlaw,  who  is  said  to  have  been  the  author/'  Yet  Pinkerton 
made  Percy  believe  that  Bruce  was  the  author.  Great  difference 
of  opinion  has  been  expressed  as  to  the  merit  of  the  ballad  by 
various  critics.  Mathias  was  fascinated  with  it,  and  printed  it 
privately  with  an  encomiastic  criticism.  Scott  wrote  on  the  fly-leaf 
of  his  copy  of  Ramsay's  Evergreen^  ^^  Hardyknute  was  the  first 
poem  I  ever  learnt — the  last  that  I  shall  forget,"  and  in  his  Min- 
strelsy of  the  Border  he  terms  it  "a  most  spirited  and  beautiful 
imitation  of  the  ancient  ballad."  Thomas  Warton  was  deceived  by 
it,  and  describes  it  as  genuine  in  the  first  edition  of  his  Observations 
on  Spenser.  In  the  second  edition  he  assigns  the  ballad  to  its  true 
author,  but  adds,  "  I  am  apt  to  think  that  the  first  stanza  is  old 
and  gave  the  hint  for  writing  the  rest."  On  the  other  side  Dr. 
Johnson  considered  it  to  have  "  no  great  merit,"  and  Aytoun 
esteemed  it  a  very  poor  performance.  It  has  not  been  popular 
with  the  ordinary  devourers  of  ballads,  and  Mr.  James  Maidment 
never  had  the  good  luck  to  pick  up  a  stall  copy — he  writes,  "  The 
flying  stationers,  the  best  judges  of  what  suited  their  customers, 
not  considering  it  an  eligible  repubflcation.''  The  ballad  is  sup- 
posed to  refer  to  the  battle  of  Largs,  fought  on  the  second  of 
October,  1263,  between  the  invading  force  led  by  Haco,  King 
of  Norway,  and  the  Scottish  army  commanded  in  person  by 
Alexander  III.,  but  it  would,  in  fact,  suit  any  conflict  between 
Scots  and  Northmen.  The  effect  of  this  battle  was  the  loss  to 
Scandinavia  of  the  Hebrides  and  the  Isle  of  Man,  which  depen- 
dencies were  relinquished  to  Alexander  III.  by  terms  of  a  treaty 
concluded  in  1266,  with  Magnus,  the  successor  of  Haco.  The 
victory  was  largely  due  to  the  Lord  Pligh  Steward  of  Scotland, 
who  is  supposed  to  be  represented  by  Hardyknute.  Mr.  Gil- 
fillan  notes  that  "  Fairly  Castle,  the  residence  of  Hardyknute, 
stands  three  miles  south  of  the  battle  field.  It  is  a  single  square 
tower,  by  the  side  of  a  wild  stream  tumbling  over  a  rock  nito  a 
deep  ravine."] 


HARDYKNUTE,  109 


I. 

FATELY  stept  he  east  the  wa  / 
And  stately  stept  he  west, 
2^  Full  seventy  years  he  now  had  seen, 
Wi'  scarce  seven  years  of  rest. 
He  livM  when  Britons  breach  of  faith  5 

Wrought  Scotland  mickle  wae  : 
And  ay  his  sword  tauld  to  their  cost, 
He  was  their  deadly e  fae. 

II. 

High  on  a  hill  his  castle  stood, 

With  ha's^  and  tow'rs  a  height,  10 

And  goodly  chambers  fair  to  se, 

Where  he  lodged  mony  a  knight. 
His  dame  sae  peerless  anes  and  fair, 

For  chast  and  beauty  deem'd, 
Nae  m^arrow^  had  in  all  the  land,  15 

Save  Elenor*  the  queen. 

III. 

Full  thirteen  sons  to  him  she  bare, 

All  men  of  valour  stout ; 
In  bloody  fight  with  sword  in  hand 

Nine  lost  their  lives  bot^  doubt :  3» 

Four  yet  remain,  lang  may  they  live 

To  stand  by  liege  and  land ; 
High  was  their  fame,  high  was  their  might, 

And  high  was  their  command. 


[*  Margaret  was  the  name  of  the  queen  of  Alexander  III.    Her 
mother  was  Eleanor,  Queen  of  England. 

^  wall  or  rampart  of  the  castle.  ^  halls. 

^  match  or  equal.  *  without.} 


35 


iio  HARDYKNUTE, 

IV. 

Great  love  they  bare  to  Fairly  fair,  ^5 

Their  sister  saft  and  dear, 
Her  girdle  shaw'd  her  middle  gimp,^ 

And  gowden  glist^  her  hair. 
What  waefu'  wae  her  beauty  bred  ? 

Waefu'  to  young  and  auld,  50 

Waefu'  I  trow  to  kyth  and  kin, 

As  story  ever  tauld. 

V. 

The  king  of  Norse  in  summer  tyde, 

Puff'd  up  with  pow'r  and  might, 
Landed  in  fair  Scotland  the  isle 

With  mony  a  hardy  knight. 
The  tydings  to  our  good  Scots  king 

Came,  as  he  sat  at  dine. 
With  noble  chiefs  in  brave  aray. 

Drinking  the  blood-red  wine 

VI. 

*'  To  horse,  to  horse,  my  royal  liege, 

Your  faes  stand  on  the  strand, 
Full  twenty  thousand  glittering  spears 

The  king  of  Norse  commands." 
Bring  me  my  steed  Mage  dapple  gray, 

Our  good  king  rose  and  cry'd, 
A  trustier  beast  in  a'  the  land 

A  Scots  king  nevir  try'd. 

VII. 

Go  little  page,  tell  Hardyknute, 

That  lives  on  hill  sae  hie, 
To  draw  his  sword,  the  dread  of  faes, 

And  haste  and  follow  me. 


\}  slender.  ^  shone  like  gold.] 


HA  RD  YKN  UTE.  in 

The  little  pacre  flew  swift  as  dart 

Flung  by  his  master's  arm, 
**  ComiC  down,  come  down,  lord  Hardyknute,  55 

And  rid  your  king  frae  harm." 

VIII. 

Then  red  red  grew  his  dark-brown  cheeks, 

Sae  did  his  dark-brown  brow  ; 
His  looks  grew  keen,  as  they  were  wont 

In  dangers  great  to  do  ;  60 

He's  ta'en  a  horn  as  green  as  grass, 

And  gi'en  five  sounds  sae  shill,^ 
That  trees  in  green  wood  shook  thereat, 

Sae  loud  rang  ilka  hill. 

IX. 

His  sons  in  manly  sport  and  glee,  65 

Had  past  that  summer's  morn, 
When  low  down  in  a  grassy  dale, 

They  heard  their  father's  horn. 
That  horn,  quo'  they,  ne'er  sounds  In  peace, 

We've  other  sport  to  bide.  70 

And  soon  they  hy'd  them  up  the  hill, 

And  soon  were  at  his  side. 

X. 

"  Late  late  the  yestreen^  I  ween'd  In  peace 

To  end  my  lengthened  life. 
My  age  might  well  excuse  my  arm  75 

Frae  manly  feats  of  strife  ; 
But  now  that  Norse  do's  proudly  boast 

Fair  Scotland  to  inthrall, 
It's  ne'er  be  said  of  Hardyknute, 

He  fear'd  to  fight  or  fall.  8<> 

[^  so  shrill.  '^  yester  even.] 


1X2  HARDYKNUTE. 

XI. 

"  Robin  of  Rothsay,  bend  thy  bow 

Thy  arrows  shoot  sae  leel/ 
That  mony  a  comely  countenance 

They've  turnd  to  deadly  pale. 
Brade^  Thomas  take  you  but  your  lance,  85 

You  need  nae  weapons  mair, 
If  you  fight  wi't  as  you  did  anes 

'Gainst  Westmoreland's  fierce  heir. 

XII. 

"  And  Malcolm,  light  of  foot  as  stag 

That  runs  in  forest  wild,  90 

Get  me  my  thousands  three  of  men 

Well  bred  to  sword  and  shield  : 
Bring  me  my  horse  and  harnisine,^ 

My  blade  of  mettal  clear. 
If  faes  but  ken'd  the  hand  it  bare,  95 

They  soon  had  fled  for  fear. 

XIII. 

**  Farewell  my  dame  sae  peerless  good, 

(And  took  her  by  the  hand), 
Fairer  to  me  in  age  you  seem, 

Than  maids  for  beauty  fam'd.  100 

My  youngest  son  shall  here  remain 

To  guard  these  stately  towers, 
And  shut  the  silver  bolt  that  keeps 

Sae  fast  your  painted  bowers." 

XIV. 

And  first  she  wet  her  comely  cheiks,  105 

And  then  her  boddice  green, 
Her  silken  cords  of  twirtle  twist,* 

Well  plett  with  silver  sheen ; 

\}  true.  ^  broad.  ^  armour.  ■*  twirled  twist.] 


HARDVKNUTE,  113 

And  apron  set  with  mony  a  dice 

Of  needle- wark  sae  rare,  no 

Wove  by  nae  hand,  as  ye  may  guess, 

Save  that  of  Fairly  fair. 

XV. 

And  he  has  ridden  o'er  muir  and  moss, 

O'er  hills  and  mony  a  glen, 
When  he  came  to  a  wounded  knight  115 

Making  a  heavy  mane  ; 
'*  Here  maun  I  lye,  here  maun  I  dye, 

By  treacherie's  false  guiles  ; 
Witless  I  was  that  e'er  ga  faith 

To  wicked  woman's  smiles/'  120 

XVI. 

**  Sir  knight,  gin  you  were  in  my  bower, 

To  lean  on  silken  seat, 
My  lady's  kindly  care  you'd  prove, 

Who  ne'er  knew  deadly  hate  : 
Herself  wou'd  watch  you  a'  the  day,  1*5 

Her  maids  a  dead  of  night  ; 
And  Fairly  fair  your  heart  wou'd  chear, 

As  she  stands  in  your  sight. 

XVII. 

"  Arise  young  knight,  and  mount  your  stead. 

Full  lowns  the  shynand  day  :  ^  130 

Choose  frae  my  menzie^  whom  ye  please 

To  lead  you  on  the  way." 
With  smileless  look,  and  visage  wan 

The  wounded  knight  reply'd, 
"  Kind  chieftain,  your  intent  pursue,  131 

For  here  I  maun  abyde. 

[^  full  calm  the  shining  day  becomes.  ^  retinue.] 


114  HARDYKNUTE. 

XVIII, 

To  me  nae  after  day  nor  night 

Can  e're  be  sweet  or  fair, 
But  soon  beneath  some  draping  tree, 

Cauld  death  shall  end  my  care."  i^o 

With  him  nae  pleading  might  prevail  ; 

Brave  Hardyknute  to  gain 
With  fairest  words,  and  reason  strong, 

Strave  courteously  in  vain. 

XIX. 

Syne  he  has  gane  far  hynd  out  o'er^  145 

Lord  Chattan's  land  sae  wide  ; 
That  lord  a  worthy  wight  was  ay. 

When  faes  his  courage  sey'd  :^ 
Of  Pictish  race  by  mother  s  side, 

When  Picts  rul'd  Caledon,  150 

Lord  Chattan  claim'd  the  princely  maid, 

When  he  sav'd  Pictish  crown. 

XX. 

Now  with  his  fierce  and  stalwart  train, 

He  reach'd  a  rising  hight, 
Quhair  braid  encampit  on  the  dale,  155 

Norss  menzie^  lay  in  sicht. 
**  Yonder  my  valiant  sons  and  feirs'* 

Our  raging  revers^  wait 
On  the  unconquert  Scottish  sward 

To  try  with  us  their  fate.  160 

XXI. 

"  Make  orisons  to  him  that  sav*d 

Our  sauls  upon  the  rude  ;^ 
Syne^  bravely  shaw  your  veins  are  fill'd 

With  Caledonian  blude." 

r*  gone  far  over  the  country.  ^         tried.        ^  the  horse  army. 
*  companions.       ^  spoilers  or  robbers.       ^  cross.        '^  then.] 


HARDYKNUTE,  115 

Then  furth  he  drew  his  trusty  glave/  165 

While  thousands  all  around 
Drawn  frae  their  sheaths  glanc'd  in  the  sun  ; 

And  loud  the  bougies  sound. 

XXII. 

To  joyn  his  king  adoun  the  hill 

In  hast  his  merch  he  made,  170 

While,  playand  pibrochs,  minstralls  meit^ 

Afore  him  stately  strade. 
"  Thrice  welcome  valiant  stoup  of  weir,^ 

Thy  nations  shield  and  pride  ; 
Thy  king  nae  reason  has  to  fear  175 

When  thou  art  by  his  side." 

XXIII. 

When  bows  were  bent  and  darts  were  thrawn  ; 

For  thrang  scarce  cou'd  they  flee  ; 
The  darts  clove  arrows  as  they  met, 

The  arrows  dart^  the  tree.  180 

Lang  did  they  rage  and  fight  fu'  fierce, 

With  little  skaith  to  mon, 
But  bloody  bloody  was  the  field. 

Ere  that  lang  day  was  done. 

XXIV. 

The  king  of  Scots,  that  sindle^  brook'd  185 

The  war  that  look'd  like  play, 
Drew  his  braid  sword,  and  brake  his  bow. 

Sin  bows  seem'd  but  delay. 
Quoth  noble  Rothsay,  "  Mine  I'll  keep, 

I  wat  it's  bled  a  score.**  190 

Haste  up  my  merry  men,  cry'd  the  king, 

As  he  rode  on  before. 


P  sword.      2  proper.       ^  pillar  of  war.      ■*  hit       *  seldom.] 


ii6  HARDYKNUTE. 


XXV 


The  king  of  Norse  he  sought  to  find, 

With  him  to  mense^  the  faught, 
But  on  his  forehead  there  did  light  ^    191 

A  sharp  unsonsie^  shaft ; 
As  he  his  hand  put  up  to  feel 

The  wound,  an  arrow  keen, 
O  waefu  chance  !  there  pinn  d  his  hand 

In  midst  between  his  een.  aoo 

XXVI. 

"  Revenge,  revenge,  cry'd  Rothsay  s  heir, 

Your  mail-coat  sha'  na  bide 
The  strength  and  sharpness  of  my  dart:" 

Then  sent  it  through  his  side. 
Another  arrow  well  he  mark'd,  205 

It  pierc'd  his  neck  in  twa, 
His  hands  then  quat^  the  silver  reins, 

He  low  as  earth  did  fa\ 

xxvii. 

"  Sair  bleids  my  liege,  sair,  sair  he  bleeds  !  " 

Again  wi'  might  he  drew  21a 

And  gesture  dread  his  sturdy  bow, 

Fast  the  braid  arrow  flew  : 
Wae  to  the  knight  he  ettled  at;* 

Lament  now  queen  Elgreed  ; 
High  dames  too  wail  your  darling's  fall,  aij 

His  youth  and  comely  meed 

XXVIII. 

"  Take  aff,  take  aff  his  costly  jupe** 

(Of  gold  well  was  it  twin'd, 
Knit  like  the  fowler's  net,  through  quhilk, 

His  steelly  harness  shin'd)  220 


\}  to  measure  or  try  the  battle.  ^  unlucky.  *  quitted. 

*  aimed  at.  ^  upper  garment.] 


HARDYKNUTE.  117 

Take,  Norse,  that  gift  frae  me,  and  bid 

Him  venge  the  blood  it  bears; 
Say,  if  he  face  my  bended  bow, 

He  sure  nae  weapon  fears." 

XXIX. 

Proud  Norse  with  giant  body  tall,  S25 

Braid  shoulders  and  arms  strong, 
Cry'd,  "  Where  is  Hardyknute  sae  fam'd, 

And  fear'd  at  Britain's  throne : 
Tho'  Britons  tremble  at  his  name, 

I  soon  shall  make  him  wail,  130 

That  e'er  my  sword  was  made  sae  sharp, 

Sae  saft  his  coat  of  mail." 

XXX. 

That  brag  his  stout  heart  cou'd  na  bide. 

It  lent  him  youthfu'  micht : 
"  I'm  Hardyknute  ;  this  day,  he  cry'd,  235 

To  Scotland's  king  I  heght^ 
To  lay  thee  low,  as  horses  hoof; 

My  word  I  mean  to  keep." 
Syne  with  the  first  stroke  e'er  he  strake, 

He  garr'd^  his  body  bleed.  2+0 

XXXI. 

Norss  een  like  gray  gosehawk*s  stair'd  wyld. 

He  sigh'd  wi'  shame  and  spite ; 
"  Disgrac'd  is  now  my  far-fam'd  arm 

That  left  thee  power  to  strike  : " 
Then  ga'  his  head  a  blow  sae  fell,  245 

It  made  him  doun  to  stoup, 
As  laigh  as  he  to  ladies  us'd 

In  courtly  guise  to  lout.^ 


]}  promised.  ^  made.  '  bend  low.] 


ii8  HARDYKNUTE, 

XXXII. 

Fu*  soon  he  rais'd  his  bent  body, 

His  bow  he  marvelFd  sair,  150 

Sin  blows  till  then  on  him  but  darr'd* 

As  touch  of  Fairly  fair  : 
Norse  marvelFd  too  as  sair  as  he 

To  see  his  stately  look  ; 
Sae  soon  as  e'er  he  strake  a  fae,  455 

Sae  soon  his  life  he  took. 

XXXIII. 

Where  like  a  fire  to  heather  set, 

Bauld  Thomas  did  advance, 
Ane  sturdy  fae  with  look  enraged 

Up  toward  him  did  prance  ;  260 

He  spurr'd  his  steid  through  thickest  ranks 

The  hardy  youth  to  quell, 
Wha  stood  unmov'd  at  his  approach 

His  fury  to  repell. 

XXXIV. 

"  That  short  brown  shaft  sae  meanly  trimmed,  265 

Looks  like  poor  Scotlands  gear, 
But  dreadfuU  seems  the  rusty  point !  '* 

And  loud  he  leugh  in  jear.^ 
"  Oft  Britons  b[l]ood  has  dimm'd  its  shine ; 

This  point  cut  short  their  vaunt : ''  270 

Syne  pierc'd  the  boasters  bearded  cheek ; 

Nae  time  he  took  to  taunt. 

XXXV. 

Short  while  he  in  his  saddle  swang, 

His  stirrup  was  nae  stay, 
Sae  feeble  hang  his  unbent  knee  275 

Sure  taiken  he  was  fey  :^ 

p  hit.     2  in  derision.     ^  sure  token  he  was  doomed  to  death.] 


HARDYKNUTE,  119 

Swith^  on  the  harden't  clay  he  fell, 

Right  far  was  heard  the  thud : 
But  Thomas  look't  nae  as  he  lay 

All  waltering  in  his  blud  :  aSo 

XXXVI. 

With  careless  gesture,  mind  unmov't. 

On  rode  he  north  the  plain ; 
His  seem  in  throng  of  fiercest  strife, 

When  winner  ay  the  same  : 
Not  yet  his  heart  dames  dimplet  cheek  285 

Could  mease^  soft  love  to  bruik, 
Till  vengefu  Ann  return' d  his  scorn. 

Then  languid  grew  his  luik. 

XXXVII. 

In  thraws  of  death,  with  walowit^  cheik 

All  panting  on  the  plain,  «9o 

The  fainting  corps  of  warriours  lay, 

Ne're  to  arise  again  ; 
Ne're  to  return  to  native  land, 

Nae  mair  with  blithsome  sounds 
To  boast  the  glories  of  the  day,  S95 

And  shaw  their  shining  wounds. 

XXXVIII. 

On  Norways  coast  the  widowit  dame 

May  wash  the  rocks  with  tears, 
May  lang  luik  ow'r  the  shipless  seas 

Befor  her  mate  appears.  300 

Cease,  Emma,  cease  to  hope  in  vain ; 

Thy  lord  lyes  in  the  clay ; 
The  valiant  Scots  nae  revers  thole* 

To  carry  life  away. 


P  at  once.  ^  mollify.  ^  faded.  '*  suffer. 


120  HARDYKNUTE. 


XXXIX. 


Here  on  a  lee,  where  stands  a  cross  305 

Set  up  for  monument, 
Thousands  fu  fierce  that  summer's  day 

Fiird  keen  war's  black  intent. 
Let  Scots,  while  Scots,  praise  Hardyknute, 

Let  Norse  the  name  ay  dread,  310 

Ay  how  he  faugh t,  aft  how  he  spar'd, 

Shall  latest  ages  read. 


XL. 

Now  loud  and  chill  blew  th'  westlin  wind, 

Sair  beat  the  heavy  shower, 
Mirk^  grew  the  night  ere  Hardyknute  315 

Wan'^  near  his  stately  tower. 
His  tow'r  that  us  d  wi'  torches  blaze 

To  shine  sae  far  at  night, 
Seem'd  now  as  black  as  mourning  weed, 

Nae  marvel  sair  he  sigh'd.  320 


XLI. 

"  There's  nae  light  in  my  lady's  bower, 

There's  nae  light  in  my  ha' ; 
Nae  blink  shines  round  my  Fairly  fair, 

Nor  ward'"^  stands  on  my  wa'. 
**  What  bodes  it  ?  Robert,  Thomas,  say  ; " —  325 

Nae  answer  fitts  their  dread. 
"Stand  back,  my  sons,  I'le  be  your  guide ;" 

But  by  they  past  with  speed. 


[^  dark.  ^  drew  near.  *  warden.] 


HARDYKNUTE,  121 

XLII. 

**  As  fast  I've  sped  owre  Scotlands  faes," — 

There  ceas'd  his  brag  of  weir,  330 

Sair  sham'd  to  mind  ought  but  his  dame, 

And  maiden  Fairly  fair. 
Black  fear  he  felt,  but  what  to  fear 

He  wist  nae  yet ;  wi'  dread 
Sair  shook  his  body,  sair  his  limbs,  333 

And  a'  the  warrior  fled. 

4c  ♦  H(  H:  Hi 


THE    END    OF  THE   FIRST   BOOK. 


RELIQUES   OF  ANCIENT  POETRY,  ETC. 


SERIES  THE  SECOND. 


BOOK  11. 


^^t^ 


I. 

A  BALLAD  OF  LUTHER,  THE  POPE,  A 
CARDINAL,  AND  A  HUSBANDMAN. 


■  N  the  former  Book  we  brought  down  this  second  Series 
of  poems,  as  low  as  about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  We  now  find  the  Muses  deeply  engaged  in 
religious  controversy.  The  sudden  revolution,  wrought 
in  the  opinions  of  mankind  by  the  Reformation,  is  one  of  the  most 
striking  events  in  the  history  of  the  human  mind.  It  could  not 
but  engross  the  attention  of  every  individual  in  that  age,  and 
therefore  no  other  writings  would  have  any  chance  to  be  read,  but 
such  as  related  to  this  grand  topic.  The  alterations  made  in  the 
established  religion  by  Henry  VIII.,  the  sudden  changes  it  un- 
derwent in  the  three  succeeding  reigns  within  so  short  a  space  as 
eleven  or  twelve  years,  and  the  violent  struggles  between  expiring 
Popery,  and  growing  Protestantism,  could  not  but  interest  all  man- 
kind. Accordingly  every  pen  was  engaged  in  the  dispute.  The 
followers  of  the  Old  and  New  Profession  (as  they  were  called)  had 
their  respective  Ballad-makers  ;  and  every  day  produced  some 
popular  sonnet  for  or  against  the  Reformation.  The  following  ballad, 
and  that  intitled  Little  John  Nobody,  may  serve  for  specimens  of 
the  writings  of  each  party.  Both  were  written  in  the  reign  of  Ed- 
ward VI. ;  and  are  not  the  worst  that  were  composed  upon  the 
occasion.  Controversial  divinity  is  no  friend  to  poetic  flights. 
Yet  this  ballad  of  Luther  and  the  Pope  is  not  altogether  devoid 
of  spirit ;  it  is  of  the  dramatic  kind,  and  the  characters  are  tolerably 
well  sustained ;  especially  that  of  Luther,  which  is  made  to  speak 
in  a  manner  not  unbecoming  the  spirit  and  courage  of  that  vigorous 
Reformer.  It  is  printed  from  the  original  black-letter  copy  (in  the 
Pepys  collection,  vol.  i.  folio,)  to  which  is  prefixed  a  large  wooden 
cut,  designed  and  executed  by  some  eminent  master. 


126       A    BALLAD    OF  LUTHER, 

We  are  not  to  wonder  that  the  ballad-writers  of  that  age  should 
be  inspired  with  the  zeal  of  controversy,  when  the  very  stage 
teemed  with  polemic  divinity.  I  have  now  before  me  two  very 
ancient  quarto  black-letter  plays :  the  one  published  in  the  time 
of  Henry  VIII.,  intitled.  Every  Man;  the  other  called  Lusty 
JuventuSy  printed  in  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  In  the  former  of 
these,  occasion  is  taken  to  inculcate  great  reverence  for  old  mother 
church  and  her  superstitions :  *  in  the  other,  the  poet  (one  R.  Wever) 
with  great  success  attacks  both.  So  that  the  Stage  in  those  days 
literally  was,  what  wise  men  have  always  wished  it,  a  supplement 
to  the  pulpit : — This  was  so  much  the  case,  that  in  the  play  of 
Lusty  Juventus,  chapter  and  verse  are  every  where  quoted  as 
formally  as  in  a  sermon ;  take  an  instance : 

"  The  Lord  by  his  prophet  Ezechiel  sayeth  in  this  wise  playnlye, 
As  in  the  xxxiij  chapter  it  doth  appere : 
Be  converted,  O  ye  children,  &c." 

From  this  play  we  learn  that  most  of  the  young  people  were  New 
Gospellers,  or  friends  to  the  Reformation ;  and  that  the  old  were 
tenacious  of  the  doctrines  imbibed  in  their  youth :  for  thus  the 
Devil  is  introduced  lamenting  the  downfal  of  superstition : 


Take  a  specimen  from  his  high  encomiums  on  the  priesthood . 

"  There  is  no  emperour,  kyng,  duke,  ne  baron 

That  of  God  hath  commissyon, 

As  hath  the  leest  preest  in  the  world  beynge. 
***** 

God  hath  to  them  more  power  gyven, 
Than  to  any  aungell,  that  is  in  heven ; 
With  V.  words  he  may  consecrate 
Goddes  body  in  fleshe  and  blode  to  take, 
And  handeleth  his  maker  bytwene  his  handes. 
The  preest  byndeth  and  unbindeth  all  bandes, 
Bothe  in  erthe  and  in  heven. — 
Thou  ministers  all  the  sacramentes  seven. 
Though  we  kyst  thy  fete  thou  were  worthy ; 
Thou  art  the  surgyan  that  cureth  synne  dedly ; 
No  remedy  may  we  fynde  under  God, 
But  alone  on  preesthode. 

God  gave  preest  that  dignitb. 

And  letteth  them  in  his  stede  amonge  us  be, 
Thus  be  they  above  aungels  in  degre." 

See  Hawkins's  Orig.  of  Eng.  Drama^  vol.  i.  p.  6i. 


THE    POPE,    A    CARDINAL,   cfr.     127 

*'  The  olde  people  would  believe  stil  in  my  lawes, 
But  the  yonger  sort  leade  them  a  contrary  way, 
They  wyl  not  beleve,  they  playnly  say, 
In  olde  traditions,  and  made  by  men,  &c." 

And  in  another  place  Hypocrisy  urges, 

*'  The  worlde  was  never  meri 

Since  chyldren  were  so  boulde  : 

Now  every  boy  will  be  a  teacher. 

The  father  a  foole,  the  chyld  a  preacher." 

Of  the  plays  abovementioned,  to  the  first  is  subjoined  the  following 
Printer's  Colophon,  II  Thus  endeth  this  moral  playe  of  Every  Man, 
H  Imprynted  at  London  in  Powles  chyrche  yarde  by  me  John 
Skot.  In  Mr.  Garrick's  collection  is  an  imperfect  copy  of  the  same 
play,  printed  by  Richarde  Pynson. 

The  other  is  intitled,  An  enterlude  called  Lusty  Jiiventus :  and  is 
thus  distinguished  at  the  end:  Finis,  quod  R.  Wever.  Imprinted 
at  London  in  Paules  churche  yeard,  by  Abraham  Vele  at  the  signe 
of  the  Lambe.  Of  this  too  Mr.  Garrick  has  an  imperfect  copy  of  a 
different  edition. 

Of  these  two  plays  the  reader  may  find  some  further  particulars 
in  the  former  volume,  Appendix  II.,  see  T/ie  Essay  on  the  Origin  of 
the  English  Stage;  and  the  curious  reader  wall  find  the  plays 
themselves  printed  at  large  in  Hawkins's  Origin  of  the  English 
Drama,  3  vols.  Oxford,  1773,  i2mo. 


The  Husbandman. 

ET  us  lift  up  our  hartes  all, 

And  prayse  the  lordes  magnificence, 
Which  hath  given  the  wolues  a  fall. 
And  is  become  our  strong  defence  : 
For  they  thorowe  a  false  pretens 
From  Christes  bloude  dyd  all  us  leade,* 
Gettynge  from  every  man  his  pence, 
As  satisfactours  for  the  deade. 


*  i.e.  denied  us  the  cup,  see  below,  ver.  94. 


128       A    BALLAD    OF   LUTHER, 

For  what  we  with  our  Flayles  coulde  get 

To  kepe  our  house,  and  servauntes ;  %% 

That  did  the  Freers^  from  us  fet, 

And  with  our  soules  played  the  merchauntes : 
And  thus  they  with  theyr  false  warrantes 

Of  our  sweate  have  easelye  lyved, 

That  for  fatnesse  theyr  belyes  pantes,  15 

So  greatly e  have  they  us  deceaued. 

They  spared  not  the  fatherlesse, 

The  carefull,  nor  the  pore  wydowe  ; 
They  wolde  have  somewhat  more  or  lesse, 

If  it  above  the  ground  did  growe  :  »o 

But  now  we  Husbandmen  do  knowe 
Al  their  subteltye,  and  their  false  caste  f 

For  the  lorde  hath  them  overthrowe 
With  his  swete  word  now  at  the  laste. 

Doctor  Martin  Luther. 

Thou  antichrist,  with  thy  thre  crownes,  %^ 

Hast  usurped  kynges  powers. 
As  having  power  over  realmes  and  townes, 

Whom  thou  oughtest  to  serve  all  houres : 

Thou  thinkest  by  thy  jugglyng  colours 
Thou  maist  lykewise  Gods  word  oppresse ;  ja 

As  do  the  deceatful  foulers, 
When  they  theyr  nettes  craftelye  dresse. 

Thou  flatterest  every  prince,  and  lord, 

Thretening  poore  men  with  swearde  and  fyre; 

All  those,  that  do  followe  Gods  worde,  35 

To  make  them  cleve  to  thy  desire, 
Theyr  bokes  thou  burnest  in  flaming  fire; 

Cursing  with  boke,  bell,  and  candell. 
Such  as  to  reade  them  have  desyre, 

Or  with  them  are  wyllynge  to  meddell.  4a 

\}  friars.  ^  stratagem.] 


FHE  POPE,   A    CARDINAL,    &c.      i  ?9 

Thy  false  power  wyl  I  bryng  down, 

Thou  shalt  not  raygne  many  a  yere, 
I  shall  dryve  the  from  citye  and  towne, 

Even  with  this  pen  that  thou  seyste  here  : 

Thou  fyghtest  with  swerd,  shylde,  and  spearc,     ^ ; 
But  I  wyll  fyght  with  Gods  worde  ; 

Which  is  now  so  open  and  cleare, 
That  it  shall  brynge  the  under  the  horde.* 

The  Pope. 

Though  I  brought  never  so  many  to  hel, 

And  to  utter  dampnacion,  ^-^ 

Throughe  myne  ensample,  and  consel, 
Or  thorow  any  abhominacion, 
Yet  doth  our  lawe  excuse  my  fashion. 

And  thou,  Luther,  arte  accursed  ; 

For  blamynge  me,  and  my  condicion,  55 

The  holy  decres  have  the  condempned. 

Thou  stryvest  against  my  purgatory, 
Because  thou  findest  it  not  in  scripture ; 

As  though  I  by  myne  auctorite 

Myght  not  make  one  for  myne  honoure.  ^^ 

Knowest  thou  not,  that  I  have  power 

To  make,  and  mar,  in  heaven  and  hell, 
In  erth,  and  every  creature  ? 

Whatsoever  I  do  it  must  be  well. 

As  for  scripture,  I  am  above  it ;  65 

Am  not  I  Gods  hye  vicare  ? 
Shulde  I  be  bounde  to  folowe  it. 

As  the  carpenter  his  ruler  ?t 

Nay,  nay,  here  ticks  ye  are. 
That  \vill  not  obey  my  auctoritle.  70 

With  this  swoRDE  I  wyll  declare, 
That  ye  shal  al  accursed  be. 


*  i.e.  make  thee  knock  under  the  table.  f  i.e.  his  rule. 

2  K 


I30    A    BALLAD    OF   LUTHER,    &c. 

The  Cardinal. 

T  am  a  Cardlnall  of  Rome, 

Sent  from  Christes  hye  vicary, 
To  graunt  pardon  to  more,  and  sume,  ,      75 

That  wil  Luther  resist  strongly  : 

He  is  a  greate  hereticke  treuly, 
And  regardeth  to  much  the  scripture  ; 

For  he  thinketh  onely  thereby 
To  subdue  the  popes  high  honoure.  i^ 

Receive  ye  this  pardon  devoutely, 
And  loke  that  ye  agaynst  him  fight ; 

Plucke  up  youre  herts,  and  be  manlye, 
For  the  pope  sayth  ye  do  but  ryght : 
And  this  be  sure,  that  at  one  flyghte,  85 

Allthough  ye  be  overcome  by  chaunce, 

Ye  shall  to  heaven  go  with  greate  myghte; 

God  can  make  you  no  resistaunce. 

But  these  heretikes  for  their  medlynge 

Shall  go  down  to  hel  every  one  ;  90 

For  they  have  not  the  popes  blessynge, 

Nor  regarde  his  holy  pardon  : 

They  thinke  from  all  destruction 
By  Christes  bloud  to  be  saved, 

Fearynge  not  our  excommunicacion,  93 

Therefore  shall  they  al  be  dampned. 


JOHN   ANDERSON   MY    JO,     131 

II. 

JOHN  ANDERSON  MY  JO. 
A  Scottish  Song. 

;HILE  in  England  verse  was  made  the  vehicle  of  con- 
^g  w-i  ■'■  ^  troversy,  and  popery  was  attacked  in  it  by  logical 
f^^tS:  argument,  or  stinging  satire ;  we  may  be  sure  the  zeal 
^SH^k^S.  of  tlie  Scottish  Reformers  would  not  suffer  their  pens 
to  be  idle,  but  many  a  pasquil  was  discharged  at  the  Rornisli 
priests,  and  their  enormous  encroachments  on  property.  Of  this 
kind  perhaps  is  the  following,  (preserved  in  Maitland's  MS.  Col- 
lection of  Scottish  poems  in  the  Pepysian  library:) 

"  Tak  a  Wobster,  that  is  leill. 
And  a  Miller,  that  will  not  steill, 
With  ane  Priest,  that  is  not  gredy, 
And  lay  ane  deid  corpse  thame  by. 
And,  throw  virtue  of  thame  three, 
That  deid  corpse  sail  qwyknit  be.'* 

Thus  far  all  was  fair :  but  the  furious  hatred  of  popery  led  them 
to  employ  their  rhymes  in  a  still  more  licentious  manner.  It  is  a 
received  tradition  in  Scotland,  that  at  the  time  of  the  Reformation, 
ridiculous  and  obscene  songs  were  composed  to  be  sung  by  the 
rabble  to  the  tunes  of  the  most  favourite  hymns  in  the  Latin  ser- 
vice. Green  sleeves  and  pudding  pies  (designed  to  ridicule  the 
popish  clergy)  is  said  to  have  been  one  of  these  metamorphosed 
hymns  :  Maggy  Lauder  was  another  :  John  Andersoii  my  jo  was  a 
third.  The  original  music  of  all  these  burlesque  sonnets  was  very 
fine.  To  give  a  specimen  of  their  manner,  we  have  inserted  one 
of  the  least  offensive.  The  reader  will  pardon  the  meanness  of 
the  composition  for  the  sake  of  the  anecdote,  which  strongly  marks 
the  spirit  of  the  times. 

In  the  present  Edition  this  song  is  much  improved  by  some 
new  readings  communicated  by  a  friend ;  who  thinks  by  tlie 
''  Seven  Bairns,"  in  st.  2d.  are  meant  the  Seven  Sacraments ;  five 
of  which  were  the  spurious  offspring  of  Mother  Church:  as  the 
first  stanza  contains  a  satirical  allusion  to  the  luxury  of  the  popish 
clergy. 

The  adaptation  of  solemn  church  music  to  these  ludicrous  pieces 


132     JOHN   ANDERSON    MY   JO. 

and  the  jumble  of  Ideas  thereby  occasioned,  will  account  for  the 
following  fact. — From  the  Records  of  the  General  Assembly  in 
Scotland,  called,  The  Book  of  the  Universal  Kirk,  p.  90,  7th 
July,  1568,  it  appears,  that  Thomas  Bassendyne  printer  in  Edin- 
burgh, printed  "a  psalme  bulk,  in  the  end  whereof  was  found 
printit  ane  baudy  sang,  called,  Welcome  Fortufies.''  * 

[In  the  first  edition  of  the  Reliqties  the  number  of  the  bairns  is 
fixed  at  five  instead  of  seven,  and  the  rhyme  to  five  is  thrive  instead 
of  threven.     The  last  line  is 

"  For  four  of  them  were  gotten,  quhan  Willie  was  awa.'' 

The  present  copy  has  thus  been  altered  to  support  the  untenable 
position  that  the  seven  bairns  were  meant  to  represent  the  seven 
sacraments. 

According  to  tradition  John  Anderson  was  formerly  the  town 
crier  of  Kelso,  and  the  song  is  not  of  any  great  antiquity,  for  it  is 
first  found  in  the  Skene  MS.,  the  date  of  which  Dauney  (^Ancient 
Scottish  Melodies,  p.  219)  fixes  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  but  which  includes,  according  to  Mr.  Chappeli,  an  English 
country  dance  that  first  appeared  in  1698  ^Popular  Music  of  the 
Olde7i  Time,  vol.  ii.  p.  770). 

Bums  wrote  his  song — 

"John  Anderson  my  jo  John 
When  we  were  first  acquent," 

to  the  old  tune,  for  Johnson's  Musical  Museum?)^ 


Woman. 

^f^^^OHN  Anderson  my  jo,  cum  in  as  ye  gae 
[^  t)ye, 

^   And  ye  sail  get  a  sheips  held  weel  baken 
^  in  a  pye ; 

Weel  baken  in  a  pye,  and  the  haggis  in  a  pat : 
John  Anderson  my  jo,  cum  in,  and  ye's  get  that. 

*  See  also  Biop-aph.  Britan.  ist  edit.  vol.  i.  p.  177. 


JOHN  ANDERSON  MY   JO.     133 


Man. 

And  how  doe  ye,  Cummer  ?^  and  how  hae  ye  threven  ? 
And  how  mony  bairns  hae  ye?  Wom.  Cummer,  I  hae 

seven. 
Man.  Are  they  to  your  awin  gude  man  ?  Wom.  Na, 

Cummer,  na ; 
For  five  of  tham  were  gotten,  quhan  he  was  awa/ 


III. 


LITTLE  JOHN  NOBODY. 

;E  have  here  a  witty  libel  on  the  Reformation  under 
king  Edward  VI.  written  about  the  year  1550,  and  pre- 
served in  the  Pepys  collection,  British  Museum,  and 
Strype's  Mem.  of  Cranmer.  The  author  artfully  declines 
entering  into  the  merits  of  the  cause,  and  wholly  reflects  on  the  lives 
and  actions  of  many  of  the  Reformed.  It  is  so  easy  to  find  flaws  and 
imperfections  in  the  conduct  of  men,  even  the  best  of  them,  and 
still  easier  to  make  general  exclamations  about  the  profligacy  of 
the  present  times,  that  no  great  point  is  gained  by  arguments 
of  that  sort,  unless  the  author  could  have  proved  that  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  Reformed  Religion  had  a  natural  tendency  to  pro- 
duce a  corruption  of  manners :  whereas  he  indirectly  owns, 
that  their  revej-end  father  [archbishop  Cranmer]  had  used  the 
most  proper  means  to  stem  the  torrent,  by  giving  the  people 
access  to  the  Scriptures,  by  teaching  them  to  pray  with  under- 
standing, and  by  publishing  homilies,  and  other  religious  tracts. 
It  must  however  be  acknowledged,  that  our  libeller  had  at  that 
time  sufiicient  room  for  just  satire.  For  under  the  banners  of  the 
Iveformed  had  enlisted  themselves,  many  concealed  papists,  who 
had  private  ends  to  gratify ;  m.any  that  were  of  no  religion ;  many 
greedy  courtiers,  who  thirsted  after  tlie  possessions  of  the  church ; 
and  many  dissolute  persons,  who  wanted  to  be  exempt  from  all 
ecclesiastical  censures.  And  as  these  men  were  loudest  of  all 
others  in  their  cries  for  Reformation,  so  in  effect,  none  obstructed 
the  regular  progress  of  it  so  much,  or  by  their  vicious  lives  brought 


\}  gossip.] 


T34       LITTLE    JOHN   NOBODY. 

vexation  and  shame  more  on  the  truly  venerable  and  pious  lie- 
formers. 

The  reader  will  remark  the  fondness  of  our  satirist  for  allitera- 
tion:  in  this  he  was  guilty  of  no  affectation  or  singularity;  his 
versification  is  that  of  Fie^'ce  Flowmaii's  Visions,  in  which  a  recur- 
rence of  similar  letters  is  essential :  to  this  he  has  only  superadded 
rhyme,  which  in  his  time  began  to  be  the  general  practice.  See 
an  Essay  on  this  very  peculiar  kind  of  metre,  in  the  appendix  to 
this  Volume. 


;|^%yK  N  december,  when  the  dayes  draw  to  be 
^'^^^  short, 

y   After  november,  when  the  nights  wax  noy- 
f^  some  and  long ; 

As  I  past  by  a  place  privily  at  a  port, 
I  saw  one  sit  by  himself  making  a  song : 
His  last*  talk  of  trifles,  who  told  with  his  tongue 
That  few  were  fast  i'th'  faith.  I  'freyned  '|  that  freake,^ 
Whether  he  wanted  wit,  or  some  had  done  him  wrong. 
He  said,  he  was  little  John  Nobody,  that  durst  not 
speake. 

John  Nobody,  quoth  I,  what  news  1  thou  soon  note 

and  tell 
What  maner  men  thou  meane,  thou  are  so  mad. 
He  said.  These  gay  gallants,  that  wil  construe  the 

gospel, 
As  Solomon  the  sage,  with  semblance  full  sad ; 
To  discusse  divinity  they  nought  adread  ; 
More  meet  it  were  for  them  to  milk  kye  at  a  fleyke.^ 
Thou  lyest,  quoth  I,  thou  losel,^  like  a  lend  lad. 
He  said,  he  was  little  John  Nobody,  that  durst  not 

speake. 


*  Perhaps  "  he  left  talk."  t  feyned,  MSS.  and  FC. 

*  asked  that  man.         '^  cows  at  a  hurdle.         ^  worthless  fellow.] 


LITTLE    JOHN   NOBODY.       i^^ 

Its  meet  for  every  man  on  this  matter  to  talk, 
And  the  glorious  gospel  ghostly  to  have  in  mind; 
It  is  sothe  said,  that  sect  but  much  unseemly  skalk. 
As  boyes   babble  in   books,   that  in  scripture  are 

blind  : 
Yet  to  their  fancy  soon  a  cause  will  find; 
As  to  live  in  lust,  in  lechery  to  leyke:^ 
Such  caitives  count  to  be  come  of  Cains  kind  ; 
But  that  I  little  John  Nobody  durst  not  speake. 

For  our  reverend  father  hath  set  forth  an  order, 
Our  service  to  be  said  in  our  seignours  tongue ; 
As  Solomon  the  sage  set  forth  the  scripture  ; 
Our  suffrages,  and  services,  with  many  a  sweet  song, 
With  homilies,  and  godly  books  us  among. 
That  no  stiff,  stubborn  stomacks  we  should  freyke  :* 
But  wretches  nere  worse  to  do  poor  men  wrong ; 
But  that  I  little  John  Nobody  dare  not  speake. 

For  bribery  was  never  so  great,  since  born  was  our 

Lord, 
And  whoredom  was  never  les  hated,  sith  Christ  har- 

rowed  ^  hel, 
And  poor  men  are  so  sore  punished  commonly  through 

the  world, 
That  it  would  grieve  any  one,  that  good  is,  to  hear 

tel. 
For  al  the  homilies  and  good  books,  yet  their  hearts 

be  so  quel,^ 
That  if  a  man  do  amisse,  with  mischlefe  they  wil  him 

wreake ;  ^ 


Ver.  3.   Cavi's  ktjtd.']     So  in  Pierce  the  PlowinatCs  Creed,  the 
proud  friars  are  said  to  be 

"  Of  Caymes  kind."—  Vid.  Sig.  C  ii.  b, 

\}  play.  2  humour.  ^  harassed.  '*  cruel. 

^  pursue  revengefully.] 


12,6       LITTLE    JOHN    NOBODY, 

The  fashion  of  these  new  fellows  it  is  so  vile  and  fell: 
But  that  I  little  John  Nobody  dare  not  speake. 

Thus  to  live  after  their  lust,  that  life  would  they  have, 
And  in  lechery  to  leyke  al  their  long  life  ; 
For  al  the  preaching  of  Paul,  yet  many  a  proud  knave 
Wil  move  mischiefe  in  their  mind  both  to  maid  and 

wife 
To  bring  them  in  advoutry/  or  else  they  wil  strife, 
And  in  brawling  about  baudery,  Gods  command- 
ments breake  : 
But  of  these  frantic  il  fellowes,  few  of  them  do  thrife; 
Though  I  little  John  Nobody  dare  not  speake. 

If  thou  company  with  them,  they  wil  currishly  carp,* 

and  not  care 
According  to  their  foolish  fantacy ;  but  fast  wil  they 

■  naught : 
Prayer  with  them  is  but  prating ;  therefore  they  it 

forbear : 
Both  almes  deeds,  and  holiness,  they  hate  it  in  their 

thought : 
Therefore  pray  we  to  that  prince,  that  with  his  bloud 

us  bought. 
That  he  wil  mend  that  is  amiss  :  for  many  a  manful 

freyke^ 
Is  sorry  for  these  sects,  though  they  say  little  or 

nought ; 
And  that  I  little  John  Nobody  dare  not  once  speake. 

Fhus  in  no  place,  this  Noeody,  in  no  time  I  met, 
Where  no  man,  '  ne'*  nought  was,  nor  nothing  did 

appear; 
Through  the  sound  of  a  synagogue  for  sorrow  I  swett, 
That  '  Aeolus't  through  the  eccho  did  cause  me  to 

hear. 

*  then,  MSS.  and  PC.  t  Hercules,  MSS.  and  PC. 

[^  adultery.  ^  censure.  ^  strong  man.] 


LITTLE    JOHN    NOBODY.        137 

Then  I  drew  me  down  into  a  dale,  whereas  the  dumb 

deer 
Did  shiver  for  a  shower ;  but  I  shunted'  from  a  freyke : 
For  I  would  no  wight  in  this  world  wist  who  I  were, 
But  little  John  Nobody,  that  dare  not  once  speake. 


IV. 

Q.    ELIZABETH'S     VERSES,    WHILE 
PRISONER   AT   WOODSTOCK, 

Writ  with  Charcoal  on  a  Shutter, 

3^  RE  preserved  by  Hentzner,  in  that  part  of  his  Travels 
((^  which  has  been  reprinted  in  so  elegant  a  manner  at 
Strawberry-hill.  In  Hentzner's  book  they  were  wretch- 
edly corrupted,  but  are  here  given  as  amended  by  his 
ingenious  editor.  The  old  orthography,  and  one  or  two  ancient 
readings  of  Hentzner's  copy,  are  here  restored. 


H,   Fortune !  how  thy  restlesse  wavering 
state 
Hath    fraught    with    cares    my    troubled 
witt ! 

Witnes  this  present  prisonn,  whither  fate 
Could  beare  me,  and  the  joys  I  quit. 


Ver.  4.  "Could  beare,"  is  an  ancient  idiom,  equivalent  to  "  did 
bear  "  or  ''  hath  borne."  See  l.ielow  the  Beggar  of  Bednal  Green, 
liook  2,  No.  X.  V.  57.  "  Could  say." 

['  shunned.] 


138      Q,    ELIZABETH'S    VERSES. 

I'hou  causedest  the  gulltie  to  be  losed 
From  bandes,  wherein  are  innocents  inclosed  : 
Causing  the  guiltles  to  be  straite  reserved, 
And  freeing  those  that  death  had  well  deserved. 
But  by  her  envie  can  be  nothing  wroughte, 
So  God  send  to  my  foes  all  they  have  thoughte. 

A.D.  MDLV.  ElIZABETIIE,  PrISONNER. 


V. 
THE    HEIR  OF   LINNE. 

I^^j-^f  HE  original  of  this  ballad  is  found  in  the  Editor's  folio 
MS.,  the  breaches  and  defects  in  which  rendered  the 
^  insertion  of  supplemental  stanzas  necessary.  These,  it 
is  hoped,  the  reader  will  pardon,  as  indeed  the  comple- 
tion of  the  story  was  suggested  by  a  modern  ballad  on  a  similar 
subject. 

From  the  Scottish  phrases  here  and  there  discernible  in  this 
poem,  it  should  seem  to  have  been  originally  composed  beyond 
the  Tweed. 

The  Heir  of  Linne  appears  not  to  have  been  a  Lord  of  Parlia- 
ment, but  a  Laird,  whose  title  went  along  with  his  estate. 

[In  the  folio  MS.  Percy  wrote  the  following  note :  "  This  old 
copy  (tho'  a  very  indifferent  fragment)  I  thought  deserving  ot 
some  attention.  I  have  therefore  bestowed  an  entire  revisal  of  the 
subject  for  my  Reliques,  &c."  In  this  revisal,  the  Bishop  swelled 
out  the  125  lines  of  the  original  into  the  216  of  his  own  version. 
It  has,  therefore,  been  necessary  to  print  a  copy  of  the  original  at 
the  end  of  the  present  ballad.  The  modern  ballad  referred  to 
above  is  the  Drunkard's  Legacy^  printed  in  J.  H.  Dixon's  Ballads 
of  the  Peasantry^  but  it  is  only  comparatively  modern,  as  it  dates 
back  to  a  period  long  before  Percy's  time.  The  portion  which 
Percy  interpolated  and  took  from  this  ballad,  forms  the  end  of  the 
first  part  and  beginning  of  the  second  part  of  the  following  version. 

The  incident  by  which  the  hidden  treasure  is  discovered  occurs 
in  one  of  the  stories  of  Cinthio's  Heccato7nithi  (Dec.  ix.  Nov.  8), 
but  the  arguments  of  the  two  tales  are  in  other  respects  different. 


THE    HEIR    OF  LINNE.  139 

The  Scotch  claim  this  ballad  as  their  own.  Some  suppose  the 
hero  to  have  been  an  Ayrshire  laird,  and  others  that  he  was  from 
Galloway.  Mothenvell  gives  the  following  verses  as  the  com- 
mencement of  the  traditionary  version  extant  in  Scotland  : 

"The  bonnie  heir,  the  weel-fam-'d  heir, 

And  the  weary  heir  o'  Linne, 
Yonder  he  stands  at  his  father's  gate, 

And  naebody  bids  him  come  m, 
O  see  whare  he  gaup  and  see  whare  he  stands, 

The  weary  heir  o'  Linne, 
O  see  whare  he  stands  on  the  cauld  causey, 

Some  ane  wuld  ta'en  him  in. 
But  if  he  had  been  his  father's  heir. 

Or  yet  the  heir  o'  Linne, 
He  wadna  stand  on  the  cauld  causey, 

Some  ane  wuld  ta'en  him  m."] 


Part  the  First, 

i^2|)ITHE^  and  listen,  gentlemen, 

^^^^       To  sing  a  song  I  will  beginne  : 

S^Wi   It  is  of  a  lord  of  faire  Scotland, 

^\0       Which  was  the  unthrifty  heire  of  Linne. 

His  father  was  a  right  good  lord,  5 

His  mother  a  lady  of  high  degree  ; 

But  they,  alas !  were  dead,  him  froe. 
And  he  lov'd  keeping  companie. 

To  spend  the  daye  with  merry  cheare, 

To  drinke  and  revell  every  night,  10 

To  card  and  dice  from  eve  to  morne, 
It  was,  I  ween,  his  hearts  dellghte 

To  ride,  to  runne,  to  rant,  to  roare, 
To  alwaye  spend  and  never  spare, 

I  wott,  an'  it  were  the  king  himselfe,  15 

Of  gold  and  fee  he  mote  be  bare. 


[}  attend.] 


I40  THE    HEIR    OF  LINNE. 

Soe  fares  the  unthrifty  lord  of  Linne 
Till  all  his  gold  is  gone  and  spent ; 

And  he  maun  sell  his  landes  so  broad, 

His  house,  and  landes,  and  all  his  rent.         so 

His  father  had  a  keen  stewarde, 

And  John  o'  the  Scales  was  called  hee: 

But  John  is  become  a  gentel-man. 

And  John  has  gott  both  gold  and  fee/ 

Sayes,  Welcome,  welcome,  lord  of  Linne,         25 
Let  nought  disturb  thy  merry  cheere  ; 

Iff  thou  wilt  sell  thy  landes  soe  broad, 
Good  store  of  gold  He  give  thee  heere. 

My  gold  is  gone,  my  money  is  spent ; 

My  lande  nowe  take  it  unto  the  :  30 

Give  me  the  golde,  good  John  o'  the  Scales, 

And  thine  for  aye  my  lande  shall  bee. 

Then  John  he  did  him  to  record  draw. 
And  John  he  cast  him  a  gods-pennie  ;* 

But  for  every  pounde  that  John  agreed,  35 

The  lande,  I  wis,  was  well  worth  three. 

He  told  him  the  gold  upon  the  borde. 
He  was  right  glad  his  land  to  v/inne  : 

The  gold  is  thine,  the  land  is  mine, 

And  now  He  be  the  lord  of  Linne.  40 

Thus  he  hath  sold  his  land  soe  broad, 
Both  hill  and  holt,^  and  moore  and  fenne, 

All  but  a  poore  and  lonesome  lodge. 
That  stood  far  off  in  a  lonely  glenne. 

*  i.e.  earnest-money;  from  the  French  Denier  a  Dieu.  At  this 
day,  when  appUcation  is  made  to  the  Dean  and  Chapter  of  Car- 
lisle to  accept  an  exchange  of  the  tenant  under  one  of  their  leases, 
a  piece  of  silver  is  presented  by  the  new  tenant,  which  is  still 
called  a  "  Gods-penny." 

\}  property.  ^  forest.] 


T, 


THE   HEIR    OF  EINNE.  141 

For  soe  he  to  his  father  hight.  45 

My  Sonne,  when  I  am  gonne,  sayd  hee, 

Then  thou  wilt  spend  thy  lande  so  broad, 
And  thou  wilt  spend  thy  gold  so  free  : 

But  sweare  me  nowe  upon  the  roode, 

That  lonesome  lodge  thou'lt  never  spend  ;     50 

For  when  all  the  world  doth  frown  on  thee, 
Thou  there  shalt  find  a  faithful  friend. 

The  heire  of  Linne  is  full  of  golde  : 

And  come  with  me,  my  friends,  sayd  hee, 

Let's  drinke,  and  rant,  and  merry  make,  55 

And  he  that  spares,  ne'er  mote  he  thee. 

They  ranted,  drank,  and  merry  made, 

Till  all  his  gold  it  waxed  thinne  ; 
And  then  his  friendes  they  slunk  away ; 

They  left  the  unthrifty  heire  of  Linne.  60 

He  had  never  a  penny  left  in  his  purse, 

Never  a  penny  left  but  three, 
And  one  was  brass,  another  was  lead, 

And  another  it  was  white  money. 

N  owe  well-aday,  sayd  the  heire  of  Linne,  65 

Nowe  well-aday,  and  woe  is  mee, 
For  when  I  was  the  lord  of  Linne, 

I  never  wanted  gold  nor  fee. 

But  many  a  trusty e  friend  have  I, 

And  why  shold  I  feel  dole  or  care  ?  yo 

He  borrow  of  them  all  by  turnes, 

Soe  need  I  not  be  never  bare. 

But  one,  I  wis,  was  not  at  home ; 

Another  had  payd  his  gold  away ; 
Another  call'd  him  thriftless  loone,  75 

And  bade  him  sharpely  wend  his  way. 


Ver.  63,  4,  5,  &c.     Sic  MS. 


142  THE    HEIR    OE  LINNE. 

Now  well-aday,  sayd  the  heire  of  LInne, 

Now  well-aday,  and  woe  is  me ! 
For  when  I  had  my  landes  so  broad, 

On  me  they  liv'd  right  merrilee.  «© 

To  beg  my  bread  from  door  to  door 

I  wis,  it  were  a  brenning  shame : 
To  rob  and  steal  it  were  a  sinne : 

To  worke  my  limbs  I  cannot  frame. 

Now  He  away  to  lonesome  lodge,  85 

For  there  my  father  bade  me  wend ; 

When  all  the  world  should  frown  on  mee, 
I  there  shold  find  a  trusty  friend. 


Part  the  Second. 

;WAY  then  hyed  the  heire  of  Linne 

O'er  hill  and  holt,^  and  moor  and  fcnne, 
Untill  he  came  to  lonesome  lodge, 

That  stood  so  lowe  in  a  lonely  glenne. 

He  looked  up,  he  looked  downe,  5 

In  hope  some  comfort  for  to  winne : 

But  bare  and  lothly'^  were  the  walles. 

Here's  sorry  cheare,  quo'  the  heire  of  Linne. 

The  little  windowe  dim  and  darke 

Was  hung  with  ivy,  brere,  and  yewe ;  10 

No  shimmering  sunn  here  ever  shone  ; 

No  halesome  breeze  here  ever  blew. 

No  chair,  ne  table  he  mote  spye. 

No  chearful  hearth,  ne  welcome  bed, 

Nought  save  a  rope  with  renning  noose,  15 

That  dangling  hung  up  o'er  his  head. 

[^  forest  '  loathsome.] 


7 HE    HEIR    OF   LINNE.  143 

And  over  It  in  broad  letters, 

These  words  were  written  so  plain  to  see  : 
"Ah  !  gracclesse  wretch,  hast  spent  thine  all, 

And  brought  thysehe  to  penurie  ?  20 

**  And  this  my  boding  mind  misgave, 

I  therefore  left  this  trusty  friend  : 
Let  it  now  sheeld  thy  foule  disgrace, 

And  all  thy  shame  and  sorrows  end." 

Sorely  shent^  wi'  this  rebuke,  25 

Sorely  shent  was  the  heire  of  Linne  ; 

His  heart,  I  wis,  was  near  to  brast 

With  guilt  and  sorrowe,  shame  and  sinne. 

Never  a  word  spake  the  heire  of  Linne, 

Never  a  word  he  spake  but  three  :  30 

'*  This  is  a  trusty  friend  indeed, 
And  is  rio:ht  welcome  unto  mee." 

Then  round  his  necke  the  corde  he  drewe, 

And  sprang  aloft  with  his  bodie  : 
When  lo  !  the  celling  burst  in  twaine,  35 

And  to  the  ground  came  tumbling  hee. 

Astonyed  lay  the  heire  of  Linne, 

Ne  knewe  if  he  were  live  or  dead  : 
At  length  he  looked,  and  sawe  a  bille,* 

And  in  it  a  key  of  gold  so  redd.  40 

He  took  the  bill,  and  lookt  it  on, 
Strait  good  comfort  found  he  there : 

Itt  told  him  of  a  hole  in  the  wall, 

In  which  there  stood  three  chests  in-fere.* 


*  in-fere,  i.e.  together. 
P  abashed.  2  letter.] 


144  THE    HEIR    OE   LINNE. 

Two  were  full  of  the  beaten  golde,  45 

The  third  was  full  of  white  money  ; 

And  over  them  in  broad  letters 

These  words  were  written  so  plaine  to  see: 

"  Once  more,  my  sonne,  I  sette  thee  clere  ; 

Amend  thy  life  and  follies  past ;  50 

For  but  thou  amend  thee  of  thy  life, 

That  rope  must  be  thy  end  at  last." 

And  let  it  bee,  sayd  the  heire  of  Linne  ; 

And  let  it  bee,  but  if  I  amend  :* 
For  here  I  will  make  mine  avow,  5  s 

This  readef  shall  guide  me  to  the  end. 

Away  then  went  with  a  merry  cheare, 
Away  then  went  the  heire  of  Linne  ; 

I  wis,  he  neither  ceas'd  ne  blanne,^ 

Till  John  o'  the  Scales  house  he  did  winne.       60 

And  when  he  came  to  John  o'  the  Scales, 
Upp  at  the  speere;|:  then  looked  hee  ; 

There  sate  three  lords  upon  a  rowe, 
Were  drinking  of  the  wine  so  free. 

And  John  himself  sate  at  the  bord-head,  65 

Because  now  lord  of  Linne  was  hee. 

I  pray  thee,  he  said,  good  John  o'  the  Scales, 
One  forty  pence  for  to  lend  mee. 


Ver.  60.  an  old  northern  phrase. 

*  i.e,  unless  I  amend.  f  t.e.  advice,  counsel. 

I  Perhaps  the  hole  in  the  door  or  window,  by  which  it  was 
speered,  i.e.  sparred,  fastened,  or  shut.  In  Bale's  second  part  of 
the  Acts  of  Eng.  Votaries,  we  have  this  phrase  (f.  38),  "  The  dore 
therof  oft  tymes  opened  and  speared  agayne.^' 

\}  lingered.] 


THE    HEIR    OF  LINNE.  145 

Away,  away,  thou  thriftless  loone  ; 

Away,  away,  this  may  not  bee  :  70 

For  Christs  curse  on  my  head,  he  sayd, 

If  ever  I  trust  thee  one  pennie. 

Then  bespake  the  heire  of  LInne, 

To  John  o'  the  Scales  wife  then  spake  he  : 

Madame,  some  almes  on  me  bestowe,  75 

I  pray  for  sweet  saint  Charitie. 

Away,  away,  thou  thriftless  loone, 

I  swear  thou  gettest  no  almes  of  mee  ; 

For  if  we  shold  hang  any  loseP  heere, 

The  first  we  wold  begin  with  thee.  so 

Then  bespake  a  good  fellowe, 

Which  sat  at  John  o'  the  Scales  his  bord; 
Sayd,  Turn  againe,  thou  heire  of  Linne  ; 

Some  time  thou  wast  a  well  good  lord  : 

Some  time  a  good  fellow  thou  hast  been,  Ss 

And  sparedst  not  thy  gold  and  fee ; 

Therefore  He  lend  thee  forty  pence, 
And  other  forty  if  need  bee. 

And  ever,  I  pray  thee,  John  o'  the  Scales, 
To  let  him  sit  in  thy  companie  :  9^ 

For  well  I  wot  thou  hadst  his  land, 
And  a  good  bargain  it  was  to  thee. 

Up  then  spake  him  John  o'  the  Scales, 
All  wood"^  he  answer'd  him  againe : 

Now  Christs  curse  on  my  head,  he  sayd.  j.^ 

But  I  did  lose  by  that  bargaine. 


\}  worthless  fellow.  *^  furiouv* 

L 


146  THE    HEIR    OF  LINNE. 

And  here  I  proffer  thee,  heire  of  Linne, 

Before  these  lords  so  faire  and  free, 
Thou  shalt  have  it  backe  again  better  cheape, 

By  a  hundred  markes,  than  I  had  it  of  thee.        loo 

I  drawe  you  to  record,  lords,  he  said. 

With  that  he  cast  him  a  gods  pennie : 
Now  by  my  fay,  sayd  the  heire  of  Linne, 

And  here,  good  John,  is  thy  money. 

And  he  pull'd  forth  three  bagges  of  gold,  105 

And  layd  them  down  upon  the  bord  : 

All  woe  begone  was  John  o*  the  Scales, 
Soe  shent  he  cold  say  never  a  word. 

He  told  him  forth  the  good  red  gold. 

He  told  it  forth  [with]  mickle  dinne.  no 

The  gold  is  thine,  the  land  is  mine, 

And  now  Ime  againe  the  lord  of  Linne. 

Sayes,  Have  thou  here,  thou  good  fellowe, 

Forty  pence  thou  didst  lend  mee : 
Now  I  am  againe  the  lord  of  Linne,  115 

And  forty  pounds  I  will  give  thee. 

He  make  the  keeper  of  my  forrest, 
Both  of  the  wild  deere  and  the  tame ; 

For  but^  I  reward  thy  bounteous  heart, 

I  wis,  good  fellowe,  I  were  to  blame.  no 

Now  welladay !  saytli  Joan  o'  the  Scales  : 

Now  welladay  !  and  woe  is  my  life  ! 
Yesterday  I  was  lady  of  Linne, 

Now  Ime  but  John  o'  the  Scales  his  wife. 


Ver.  34,  102.  cast,  is  the  reading  of  the  MS. 
[*  unless.] 


J 


THE    HEIR    OF   LINNE.         147 

Now  fare  thee  well,  sayd  the  heu'e  of  Linne;  12^ 

Farewell  now,  John  o'  the  Scales,  said  hee  : 

Christs  curse  light  on  me,  if  ever  again 

I  bring  my  lands  in  jeopardy.  *;i«* 

t  jt  In  the  present  edition  of  this  ballad  several  ancient  readings 
are  restored  from  the  folio  MS. 


HE  following  original  version  of  the  Heir  of  Linne  ia 
reprinted  from  Hales  and  Furnivall's  edition  of  the  folio 
MS.  vol.  i.  p.  174: 

Off  all  the  lords  in  faire  Scottland 

a  song  I  will  begin  : 
amongst  them  all  there  dweld  a  Lord 

which  was  the  vnthrifty  Lord  of  linne.  4 

his  father  &  mother  were  dead  him  froe, 

&  soe  was  the  head  of  all  his  kinne ; 
he  did  neither  cease  nor  bl[i]nne 

to  the  cards  &  dice  that  he  did  run,  * 

to  drinke  the  wine  that  was  soe  cleere, 

with  euery  man  he  wold  make  merry, 
and  then  bespake  him  John  of  the  Scales, 

vnto  the  heire  of  Linne  sayd  hee,  1 1 

sayes,  "how  dost  thou,  Lord  of  Linne, 

doest  either  want  gold  or  fee  ? 
wilt  thou  not  sell  thy  lands  soe  brode 

to  such  a  good  fellow  as  me  ?  16 

"ifor  .  .  I  .  ."  he  said, 

"  my  land,  take  it  vnto  thee, 
I  draw  you  to  record,  my  Lord[e]s  all  :" 

with  that  he  cast  him  a  good-se  peny,  20 

he  told  him  the  gold  vpon  the  bord, 

it  wanted  neuer  a  bare  penny. 
"  that  gold  is  thine,  the  land  is  mine, 

the  heire  of  Linne  I  wilbee."  24 

"  heeres  gold  inoughe,"  saithe  the  heire  of  Linne, 

"  both  for  me  &  my  company." 
he  drunke  the  wine  that  was  soe  cleere, 

&  with  euery  man  he  made  merry.  «8 


148  THE    HEIR    OF   LINNE, 

with-in  3  quarters  of  a  yeere 

his  gold  &  fee  it  waxed  thinne, 
his  merry  men  were  from  him  gone, 

&  left  him  himselfe  all  alone.  3» 

he  had  neuer  a  penny  left  in  his  pursse, 

neuer  a  penny  but  3, 
&  one  was  brasse,  &  another  was  lead, 

&  another  was  white  mony.  36 

"  Now  well-a  day  ! "  said  the  heire  of  Linne, 

"  now  welladay,  &  woe  is  mee  ! 
for  when  I  was  the  lord  of  Linne, 

I  neither  wanted  gold  nor  fee ;  40 

**  for  I  haue  sold  my  lands  soe  broad, 

&  haue  not  left  me  one  penny  ! 
I  must  goe  now  &  take  some  read 

vnto  Edenborrow,  &  begg  my  bread."  44 

he  had  not  beene  in  Edenborrow 

not  3  qwarters  of  a  yeere, 
but  some  did  giue  him  &  some  said  nay, 

&  some  bid  "  to  the  deele  gang  yee  !  4& 

"  for  if  we  shold  hang  any  Land  selfeer, 

the  first  we  wold  begin  with  thee." 
"  Now  welladay  ! "  said  the  heire  of  Linne, 

no[w]  welladay,  &  woe  is  mee  !  5». 

"for  now  I  have  sold  my  lands  soe  broad, 

that  mery  man  is  irke  with  mee ; 
but  when  that  I  was  the  Lord  of  Linne, 

then  on  my  land  I  liued  merrily ;  56- 

"  &  now  I  have  sold  my  land  soe  broade 
that  I  haue  not  left  me  one  pennye  ! 

god  be  with  my  father  ! "  he  said, 

"  on  his  land  he  Hued  merrily."  60 

Still  in  a  study  there  as  he  stood, 

he  vnbethought  him  of  [a]  bill 
[he  vnbethouglit  him  of  a  bill] 

which  his  father  had  left  with  him,  64 

bade  him  he  shold  neuer  on  it  looke 

1 11  he  was  in  extreame  neede, 
"&  by  my  faith,"  said  the  heire  of  Linne, 

*'  then  now  I  liad  neuer  more  neede."  6a' 


THE   HEIR    OF   LINNE.  149 

he  tooke  the  bill,  &  looked  it  on, 

good  comfort  that  he  found  there ; 
itt  told  him  of  a  Castle  wall 

where  there  stood  3  chests  in  feare :  7» 

2  were  full  of  the  beaten  gold, 

the  3  was  full  of  white  mony. 
he  turned  then  downe  his  baggs  of  bread, 

&  filled  them  full  of  gold  soe  red  ;  7^ 

then  he  did  neuer  cease  nor  blinne 

till  John  of  the  Scales  house  he  did  winne. 
when  that  he  came  to  John  of  the  Scalels, 

vpp  at  the  speere  he  looked  then :  80 

there  sate  3  lords  vpon  a  rowe, 

and  John  o  the  Scales  sate  at  the  bords  head, 
{and  John  o  the  Scales  sate  at  the  bords  head] 

because  he  was  the  Lord  of  Linne.  84 

and  then  bespake  the  heire  of  Linne, 

to  John  o  the  Scales  wiffe  thus  sayd  hee  : 

sayd,  "  Dame,  wilt  thou  not  trust  me  one  shott 

that  I  may  sitt  downe  in  this  company  ?  "  88 

**  now,  christs  curse  on  my  head,"  shee  said, 

if  I  do  trust  thee  one  pennye." 
then  bespake  a  good  fellowe, 

which  sate  by  John  o  the  Scales  his  knee,  a 

Said,  "  haue  thou  here,  thou  heire  of  linne, 

40  pence  I  will  lend  thee, — 
some  time  a  good  fellow  thou  hast  beene,^ 

&  other  40  if  neede  bee,"  96 

the  druken  wine  that  was  soe  cleere, 

&  euery  man  the  made  merry ; 
&  then  bespake  him  John  o  the  Scales, 

vnto  the  Lord  of  linne  said  hee  :  10 

said,  "how  doest  thou,  heire  of  Linne, 

since  I  did  buy  thy  Lands  of  thee  ? 
I  will  sell  it  to  thee  20"  better  cheepe 

nor  euer  I  did  buy  it  of  thee.  104 

*'  I  draw  you  to  recorde,  lord[e]s  all;'* 

with  that  he  cast  him  gods  penny ; 
then  he  tooke  to  his  baggs  of  bread, 

k.  they  were  full  of  the  gold  soe  redd,  108 


M 


150  THE    HEIR    OF   LINNE. 

he  told  him  the  gold  then  over  the  horde ; 

it  wanted  neuer  a  broad  pennye  : 
"  that  gold  is  thine,  the  land  is  mine, 

&  the  heire  of  Linne  againe  I  wilbee."  ii» 

'*  Now  welladay  ! "  said  John  o  the  Scales  wife, 

"  welladay,  &  woe  is  me  ! 
Yesterday  I  was  the  lady  of  Linne, 

&  now  I  am  but  John  o  the  Scales  wiffe  !"  116 

sales,  *'  haue  thou  heere,  thou  good  fellow, 

40  pence  thou  did  lend  me, 
[40  pence  thou  did  lend  me,] 

&  40'.  I  will  giue  thee,  lao 

He  make  thee  keeper  of  my  forrest, 

both  of  the  wild  deere  &  the  tame." 

but  then  bespake  the  heire  of  Linne, 

these  were  the  words,  &  thus  said  hee,  1*4 

"  Christs  curse  light  vpon  my  crowne 

if  ere  my  land  stand  in  any  Jeopardye  ! 

ffins] 


VI. 

GASCOIGNE'S    PRAISE    OF    THE    FAIR 

BRIDGES,    AFTERWARDS 

LADY    SANDES, 

On   Her   having  a  Scar   in    Her   Forehead. 


[EORGE  GASCOIGNE  was  a  celebrated  poet  in  the  early- 
part  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign,  and  appears  to  great 
advantage  among  the  miscellaneous  writers  of  that  age. 
He  was  author  of  three  or  four  plays,  and  of  many 
smaller  poems ;  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  which  is  a  satire  ia 
blank  verse,  called  the  Skele-glass,  1576,  4to. 

Gascoigne  was  born  in  Essex,  educated  in  both  universities, 
whence  he  removed  to  Gray's-inn ;  but,  disliking  the  study  of  the 
law,  became  first  a  dangler  at  court,  and  afterwards  a  soldier  in 
the  wars  of  the  Low  Countries.     He  had  no  great  success  in  any 


THE    FAIR    BRIDGES.  151 

of  these  pursuits,  as  appears  from  a  poem  of  his,  intitled  *'  Gas- 
coigne's  Wodmanship,  written  to  lord  Gray  of  Wilton."  Many  of 
his  epistles  dedicatory  are  dated  in  1575,  1576,  from  "his  poore 
house  in  Walthamstoe :"  where  he  died  a  middle-aged  man  in 
1578,  according  to  Anth.  Wood:  or  rather  in  1577,  if  he  is  the 
person  meant  in  an  old  tract,  intitled,  "  A  remembrance  of  the 
well  employed  Life  and  godly  End  of  Geo.  Gascoigne,  Esq.  ; 
who  deceased  at  Stamford  in  Lincolnshire,  Oct.  7,  1577,  by  Geo. 
Whetstone,  Gent,  an  eye-witness  of  his  godly  and  charitable  end 
in  this  world,"  4to.  no  date.    [From  a  MS.  of  Oldys.] 

Mr.  Thomas  Warton  thinks  "  Gascoigne  has  much  exceeded  all 
th^  poets  of  his  age,  in  smoothness  and  harmony  of  versifica- 
tion."* But  the  truth  is,  scarce  any  of  the  earlier  poets  of  Q. 
Elizabeth's  time  are  found  deficient  in  harmony  and  smoothness, 
thy  those  qualities  appear  so  rare  in  the  writings  of  their  succes- 
sors. In  the  Paradise  of  Dainty  Devises,'^  (the  Dodslefs  Mis- 
cellany of  those  times)  will  hardly  be  found  one  rough,  or 
inliarmonious  line  :%  whereas  the  numbers  of  Jonson,  Donne,  and 
most  of  their  contemporaries,  frequently  offend  the  ear  like  the 
filing  of  a  saw.  Perhaps  this  is  in  some  measure  to  be  accounted 
for  from  the  growing  pedantry  of  that  age,  and  from  the  writers 
affecting  to  run  their  lines  into  one  another,  after  the  manner  of 
tie  Latin  and  Greek  poets. 

The  following  poem  (which  the  elegant  writer  above  quoted 
hath  recommended  to  notice,  as  possessed  of  a  dehcacy  rarely  to 
be  seen  in  that  early  state  of  our  poetry)  properly  consists  of 
Alexandrines  of  twelve  and  fourteen  syllables,  and  is  printed  from 
two  quarto  black-letter  collections  of  Gascoigne's  pieces ;  the  first 
intitled,  "  A  hundreth  sundrie  flowres,  bounde  up  in  one  small 
posie,  &c.  London,  imprinted  for  Richarde  Smith : "  without  date, 
but  from  a  letter  of  H.  W.  (p.  202),  compared  with  the  printer's 
epist.  to  the  reader,  it  appears  to  have  been  published  in  1572,  or 
3.  The  other  is  intitled,  "  The  Posies  of  George  Gascoigne, 
Esq.;  corrected,  perfected,  and  augmented  by  the  author;  1575. 
— Printed  at  Lond.  for  Richard  Smith,  &c."  No  year,  but  the 
epist.  dedicat.  is  dated  1576. 

In  the  title-page  of  this  last  (by  way  of  printer's,^  or  book- 
seller's device)   is  an   ornamental    wooden  cut,    tolerably    well 


*  Observations  on  the  Faerie  Queen,  vol.  ii.  p.  168. 

f  Printed  in  1576,  1577,  1578,  1580,  1585,  1596,  1600,  and 
perhaps  oftener,  in  4to.  black-letter. 

X  The  same  is  true  of  most  of  the  poems  in  the  Mirrour  of 
Magistrates,  1563,  4to.  and  also  of  Surrey's  Poems,  1557. 

§  Henrie  Binneman. 


15-      GASCOIGNE'S   PRAISE    OF 

executed,  wherein  Time  is  represented  drawing  the  figure  of 
Truth  out  of  a  pit  or  cavern,  with  this  legend,  Occulta  Veritas 
tempore  paiet  [r.  s.]  This  is  mentioned  because  it  is  not  im- 
probable but  the  accidental  sight  of  this  or  some  other  title-page 
containing  the  same  device,  suggested  to  Rubens  that  well-known 
design  of  a  similar  kind,  which  he  has  introduced  into  the  Luxem- 
burg gallery,*  and  which  has  been  so  justly  censured  for  the 
unnatural  manner  of  its  execution. 

The  lady  here  celebrated  was  Catharine,  daughter  of  Edmond 
second  Lord  Chandos,  wife  of  William  Lord  Sands.  See  Collins's 
Peerage^  vol.  ii.  p.  133,  ed.  1779. 

[George  Gascoigne,  soldier  and  poet,  had  many  enemies,  arid 
when  objection  was  made  to  the  Privy  Council  against  his  return  as 
a  burgess  for  Midhurst,  they  termed  him  "  a  common  rymer,  ruffian, 
atheist,"  &c.  Mr.  W.  C.  Hazhtt  printed  a  complete  collection  Df 
his  poems  in  the  Roxburghe  Library,  2  vols.  London,  1869-70.] 


N  court  whoso  demaundes 

What  dame  doth  most  excell ; 
IJ  \^^   For  my  conceit  I  must  needes  say, 
■(f^<^^a^        Faire  Bridges  beares  the  bel. 

Upon  whose  lively  cheeke,  5 

To  prove  my  judgment  true. 
The  rose  and  lillie  seeme  to  strive 

For  equall  change  of  hewe : 

And  therewithall  so  well 

Hir  graces  all  agree  ;  10 

No  frowning  cheere  dare  once  presume 

In  hir  sweet  face  to  bee. 

Although  some  lavishe  lippes 

Which  like  some  other  best. 
Will  say,  the  blemishe  on  hir  browe  15 

Disgraceth  all  the  rest. 


*  Le  Tcms  decouvre  la  Vcfrite. 


THE   FAIR    BRIDGES.  153 

Thereto  I  thus  repHe  ; 

God  wotte,  they  Httle  knowe 
The  hidden  cause  of  that  mishap, 

Nor  how  the  harm  did  growe  :  »o 

For  when  dame  Nature  first 

Had  framde  hir  heavenly  face, 
And  thoroughly  bedecked  it 

With  goodly  gleames  of  grace ; 

It  lyked  hir  so  well  :  »5 

Lo  here,  quod  she,  a  peece 
For  perfect  shape,  that  passeth  all 

Appelles'  worke  in  Greece. 

This  bayt  may  chaunce  to  catche 

The  greatest  God  of  love,  30 

Or  mightie  thundring  Jove  himself, 

That  rules  the  roast  above. 

But  out,  alas  !  those  wordes 

Were  vaunted  all  in  vayne  ; 
And  some  unseen  wer  present  there,  55 

Pore  Bridges,  to  thy  pain. 

For  Cupide,  crafty  boy. 

Close  in  a  corner  stoode. 
Not  blyndfold  then,  to  gaze  on  hir : 

I  gesse  it  did  him  good.  40 

Yet  when  he  felte  the  flame 

Gan  kindle  in  his  brest, 
And  herd  dame  Nature  boast  by  hir 

To  break  him  of  his  rest, 

His  hot  newe-chosen  love  4.5 

He  chaunged  into  hate, 
And  sodeynly  with  mightie  mace 

Gan  rap  hir  on  the  pate. 


154  THE    FAIR   BRIDGES. 

It  greeved  Nature  muche 
To  see  the  cruell  deede  : 

Mee  seemes  I  see  hir,  how  she  wept 
To  see  hir  deading  bleede. 

Wei  yet,  quod  she,  this  hurt 
Shal  have  some  helpe  I  trowe  : 

And  quick  with  skin  she  coverd  it, 
That  whiter  is  than  snowe. 


s» 


15 


Wherwith  Dan  Cupide  fled, 

For  feare  of  further  flame. 
When  angel-Hke  he  saw  hir  shine, 

Whome  he  had  smit  with  shame.  6© 

Lo,  thus  was  Bridges  hurt 

In  cradel  of  hir  kind. 
The  coward  Cupide  brake  hir  browe 

To  wreke  his  wounded  mynd. 

The  skar  still  there  remains  ;  6| 

No  force,  there  let  it  bee  : 
There  is  no  cloude  that  can  eclipse 

So  bright  a  sunne,  as  she. 


VII. 
FAIR  ROSAMOND. 

|OST  of  the  circumstances  in  this  popular  story  of  king 
Henry  II.   and   the    beautiful   Rosamond   have  been 
taken  for  fact  by  our  English  historians ;  who,  unable  to 
account  for  the  unnatural  conduct  of  queen  Eleanor  in 
stimulating  her  sons  to  rebellion,  have  attributed  it  to  jealousy, 


Ver.  62.  In  cradel  of  hir  kind:  i.e.  in  the  cradle  of  her  family. 
See  Warton's  Observations,  vol.  ii.  p.  137. 


FAIR    ROSAMOND  155 

and  supposed  that  Henry's  amour  with  Rosamond  was  the  object 
of  that  passion. 

Our  old  English  annalists  seem,  most  of  them,  to  have  followed 
Higden  the  monk  of  Chester,  whose  account,  with  some  enlarge- 
ments, is  thus  given  by  Stow : — "  Rosamond  the  fayre  daughter  of 
Walter  lord  Clifford,  concubine  to  Hen'y  II.  (poisoned  by  queen 
Elianor,  as  some  thought)  dyed  at  Woodstocke  [a.d.  1177]  where 
king  Henry  had  made  for  her  a  house  of  wonderful!  working ;  so 
that  no  man  or  woman  might  come  to  her,  but  he  that  was  in- 
structed by  the  king,  or  such  as  were  right  secret  with  him 
touching  the  matter.  This  house  after  some  was  named  Laby- 
rinthus,  or  Dedalus  worke,  which  was  wrought  like  unto  a  knot  in 
a  garden,  called  a  maze  ;*  but  it  was  commonly  said,  that  lastly 
the  queene  came  to  her  by  a  clue  of  thridde,  or  silke,  and  so  dealt 
with  her,  that  she  lived  not  long  after :  but  when  she  was  dead, 
she  was  buried  at  Godstow  in  an  house  of  nunnes,  beside  Oxford, 
with  these  verses  upon  her  tombe : — 

*  Hie  jacet  in  tumba,  Rosa  mundi,  non  Rosa  munda  : 
Non  redolet,  sed  olet,  quae  redolere  solet.' 

**  In  English  thus  : — 

*  The  rose  of  the  world,  but  not  the  cleane  flowre. 
Is  now  here  graven ;  to  whom  beauty  was  lent : 

In  this  grave  full  darke  nowe  is  her  bowre, 
That  by  her  life  was  sweete  and  redolent : 

But  now  that  she  is  from  this  life  blent, 

Though  she  were  sweete,  now  foully  doth  she  stinke. 

A  mirrour  good  for  all  men,  that  on  her  thinke.'" 

Stowe's  Annals,  ed.  1631,  p.  154. 

How  the  queen  gained  admittance  into  Rosamond's  bower  is 
differently  related.  Hollinshed  speaks  of  it,  as  "the  common 
report  of  the  people,  that  the  queene  .  .  .  founde  hir  out  by  a 
silken  thread,  which  the  king  had  drawne  after  him  out  of  hir 
chamber  with  his  foot,  and  dealt  with  hir  in  such  sharpe  and 
cruell  wise,  that  she  lived  not  long  after."  Vol.  iii.  p.  115.  On 
the  other  hand,  in  Speede's  Hist,  we  are  told  that  the  jealous 
queen  found  her  out  "  by  a  clew  of  silke,  fallen  from  Rosamund's 
lappe,  as  shee  sate  to  take  ayre,  and  suddenly  fleeing  from  the 
sight  cf  the  searcher,  the  end  of  her  silke  fastened  to  her  foot,  and 


*  Conyisting  of  vaults  under  ground,  arched  and  walled  with 
brick  and  stone,  according  to  Drayton.  See  note  on  his  Epistle  of 
Rosamond. 


156  FAIR   ROSAMOND. 

the  clew  still  unwinding,  remained  behinde :  which  the  queene 
followed,  till  she  had  found  what  she  sought,  and  upon  Rosamund 
so  vented  her  spleene.  as  the  lady  lived  not  long  after."  3rd  edit. 
p.  509.  Our  ballad-maker  with  more  ingenuity,  and  probably  as 
much  truth,  tells  us  the  clue  was  gained  by  surprise,  from  the 
knight  who  was  left  to  guard  her  bower. 

It  is  observable,  that  none  of  the  old  writers  attribute  Rosa- 
mond's death  to  poison  (Stow,  above,  mentions  it  merely  as  a 
slight  conjecture) ;  they  only  give  us  to  understand,  that  the  queen 
treated  her  harshiy ;  with  furious  menaces,  we  may  suppose,  and 
sharp  expostulations,  which  had  such  effect  on  her  spirits,  that  she 
did  not  long  survive  it.  Indeed  on  her  tomb-stone,  as  we  learn 
from  a  person  of  credit,*  among  other  fine  sculptures,  was  en- 
graven the  figure  of  a  cup.  This,  which  perhaps  at  first  was  an 
accidental  ornament  (perhaps  •  only  the  chalice)  might  in  after 
times  suggest  the  notion  that  she  was  poisoned ;  at  least  this  con- 
struction was  put  upon  it,  when  the  stone  came  to  be  demolished 
after  the  nunnery  was  dissolved.  The  account  is,  that  "  the  tomb- 
stone of  Rosamund  Clifford  was  taken  up  at  Godstow,  and  broken 
in  pieces,  and  that  upon  it  were  interchangeable  weavings  drawn 
out  and  decked  with  roses  red  and  green,  and  the  picture  of  the 
cup^  out  of  which  she  drank  the  poison  given  her  by  the  queen, 
carved  in  stone." 

Rosamond's  father  having  been  a  great  benefactor  to  the  nunnery 
of  Godstow,  where  she  had  also  resided  herself  in  the  innocent 
part  of  her  life,  her  body  was  conveyed  there,  and  buried  in  the 
middle  of  the  choir ;  in  which  place  it  remained  till  the  year 
1 191,  when  Hugh  bishop  of  Lincoln  caused  it  to  be  remioved. 
The  fact  is  recorded  by  Hoveden,  a  contemporary  writer,  whose 
words  are  thus  translated  by  Stow :  "  Hugh  bishop  of  Lincolne 
came  to  the  abbey  of  nunnes,  called  Godstow,  ....  and  when 
he  had  entred  the  church  to  pray,  he  saw  a  tombe  in  the  middle 
of  the  quire,  covered  with  a  pall  of  silke,  and  set  about  with  lights 
of  waxe  :  and  demanding  whose  tomb  it  was,  he  was  answered, 
that  it  was  the  tombe  of  Rosamond,  that  was  some  time  lemman 

to  Henry  II who  for  the  love  of  her  had.  done  much  good 

to  that  church.  Then  quoth  the  bishop,  take  out  of  this  place  the 
harlot,  and  bury  her  without  the  church,  lest  christian  religion 
should  grow  in  contempt,  and  to  the  end  that,  through  example  of 
her,  other  women  being  made  afraid  may  beware,  and  keepe 
themselves  from  unlawfull  and  advouterous  company  with  men." — 
Annals,  p.  159. 

•  Tho.  Allen  of  Gloc.  Hall,  Oxon.  who  died  in  1632,  aged  90. 
See  Hearne's  rambling  discourse  concerning  Rosamond,  at  the 
end  of  Gul.  Neicbrig.  Hist.  vol.  iii.  p.  739. 


FAIR    ROSAMOND.  157 

History  further  informs  us,  that  king  John  repaired  Godstow 
nunnery,  and  endowed  it  with  yearly  revenues,  "  that  these  holy 
virgins  might  releeve  witli  their  prayers,  the  soules  of  his  father 
king  Henrie,  and  of  lady  Rosamund  there  interred."*  ....  In 
what  situation  her  remains  were  found  at  the  dissolution  of  the 
nunnery,  we  learn  from  Leland  :  "  Rosamundes  tumbe  at  God- 
stowe  nunnery  was  taken  up  [of]  late ;  it  is  a  stone  with  this  in- 
scription, TuMBA  Rosamunds.  Her  bones  were  closid  in  lede, 
and  withyn  that  bones  were  closyd  yn  lether.  When  it  was 
opened  a  very  swete  smell  came  owt  of  it."  t  See  Hearne's  dis- 
course above  quoted,  written  in  1 7 1 8 ;  at  which  time  he  tells  us, 
were  still  seen  by  the  pool  at  Woodstock  the  foundations  of  a  very 
large  building,  which  were  believed  to  be  the  remains  of  Rosa- 
mond's labyrinth. 

To  conclude  this  (perhaps  too  prolix)  account,  Henry  had  two 
sons  by  Rosamond,  from  a  computation  of  whose  age,  a  modern 
historian  has  endeavoured  to  invalidate  the  received  story.  These 
were  William  Longue-espe  (or  Long-sword),  earl  of  Salisbury,  and 
Geoffrey,  bishop  of  Lincolne.  \  Geoffrey  was  the  younger  ot 
Rosamond's  sons,  and  yet  is  said  to  have  been  twenty  years  old  at 
the  time  of  his  election  to  that  see  in  1173.  Hence  this  writer 
concludes,  that  king  Henry  fell  in  love  with  Rosamond  in  1149, 
when  in  king  Stephen's  reign  he  came  over  to  be  knighted  by  the 
king  of  Scots ;  he  also  thinks  it  probable  that  Henry's  commerce 
with  this  lady  "  broke  off  upon  his  marriage  with  Eleanor  (in 
1 152)  and  that  the  young  lady,  by  a  natural  effect  of  grief  and 
resentment  at  the  defection  of  her  lover,  entered  on  that  occasion 
into  the  nunnery  of  Godstowe,  where  she  died  probably  before  the 
rebellion  of  Henry's  sons  in  11 73."  (Carte's  Hist.  vol.  i.  p.  652.) 
But  let  it  be  observed,  that  Henry  was  but  sixteen  years  old  when 
he  came  over  to  be  knighted ;  that  he  staid  but  eight  months  in 
this  island,  and  was  almost  all  the  time  with  the  king  of  Scots ; 
that  he  did  not  return  back  to  England  till  11 53,  the  year  after  his 
marriage  with  Eleanor  \  and  that  no  writer  drops  the  least  hint  of 
Rosamond's  having  ever  been  abroad  with  her  lover,  nor  indeed  is 
it  probable  that  a  boy  of  sixteen  should  venture  to  carry  over  a 
mistress  to  his  mother's  court.  If  all  these  circumstances  are 
considered,  Mr.  Carte's  account  will  be  found  more  incoherent 


*  Vid.  reign  of  Henry  II.  in  Speed's  Hist,  writ  by  Dr.  Barcham, 
Dean  of  Booking. 

t  This  would  have  passed  for  miraculous,  if  it  had  happened 
in  the  tomb  of  any  clerical  person,  and  a  proof  of  his  being  a 
saint. 

I  Afterwards  Archbishop  of  York,  temp.  Rich.  I. 


HEN  as  king  Henry  rulde  this  land, 
The  second  of  that  name, 
Besides  the  queene,  he  dearly  lovde 
A  iaire  and  comely  dame. 

Most  peerlesse  was  her  beautye  founde,  5 

Her  favour,  and  her  face  ; 
A  sweeter  creature  in  this  worlde 

Could  never  prince  embrace. 

Her  crisped  lockes  like  threads  of  golde 

Appeard  to  each  mans  sight ;  10 

Her  sparkling  eyes,  like  Orient  pearles, 
Did  cast  a  heavenlye  light. 


158  FAIR    ROSAMOND, 

and  improbable  than  that  of  the  old  ballad ;  which  is  also  coun- 
tenanced by  most  of  our  old  historians. 

Indeed  the  true  date  of  Geoffrey's  birth,  and  consequently  of 
Henry's  commerce  with  Rosamond,  seems  to  be  best  ascertained 
from  an  ancient  manuscript  in  the  Cotton  library :  wf  erein  it  .4 
thus  registered  of  Geoffrey  Plantagenet:  "  Natus  est  5''  Hen.  II. 
[1159.]  Factus  est  miles  25**  Hen.  II.  [1179.]  Elect,  in 
Episcop.  Lincoln.  28^*  Hen.  II.  [1182]."  Vid.  Chron.  de  Kirk- 
stall  (Domitian  XII.)     Drake's  Hist,  of  York,  p.  422. 

The  ballad  of  I^air  Rosamond  appears  to  have  been  first  pub- 
lished in  "Strange  Histories,  or  Songs  and  Sonnets,  of  Kinges, 
Princes,  Dukes,  Lords,  Ladyes,  Knights,  and  Gentlemen,  &c.  By 
Thomas  Delone.     Lond.  1607."     i2mo. 

It  is  here  printed  (with  conjectural  emendations),  from  four 
ancient  copies  in  black-letter ;  two  of  them  in  the  Pepys  library. 

[It  is  also  printed  in  the  Crown  Garland  of  Golden  Roses,  and 
Garland  of  Goodwill.     Reprinted  by  the  Percy  Society. 

In  the  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,  1723,  vol.  i.  p.  1,  is  another 
ballad  on  the  same  subject,  with  the  title,  The  Ufifortunate  Concu- 
bine, or  Rosamond'' s  Overthrow. 

The  story  is  also  treated  in  Warner's  Albion's  Eitgland 
(ch.  41).] 


FAIR    ROSAMOND,  159 

The  blood  within  her  crystal  cheekes 

Did  such  a  colour  drive, 
As  though  the  lillye  and  the  rose  \s 

For  mastership  did  strive. 

Yea  Rosamonde,  fair  Rosamonde, 

Her  name  was  called  so, 
To  whom  our  queene,  dame  Ellinor, 

Was  known  a  deadlye  foe.  ar 

The  king  therefore,  for  her  defence, 

Against  the  furious  queene, 
At  Woodstocke  builded  such  a  bower, 

The  like  was  never  seene. 

Most  curiously  that  bower  was  built  x^ 

Of  stone  and  timber  strong, 
An  hundered  and  fifty  doors 

Did  to  this  bower  belong : 

And  they  so  cunninglye  contriv'd 

With  turnings  round  about,  30 

That  none  but  with  a  clue  of  thread, 

Could  enter  in  or  out. 

And  for  his  love  and  ladyes  sake, 

That  was  so  faire  and  brighte, 
The  keeping  of  this  bower  he  gave  35 

Unto  a  valiant  knighte. 

But  fortune,  that  doth  often  frowne 

Where  she  before  did  smile. 
The  kinges  delighte  and  ladyes  joy 

Full  soon  shee  did  beguile  :  4 

For  why,  the  kinges  ungracious  sonne, 

Whom  he  did  high  advance, 
Against  his  father  raised  warres 

Within  the  realme  of  France. 


i6o  FAIR   ROSAMOND. 

But  yet  before  our  comelye  king  \% 

The  English  land  forsooke, 
Of  Rosamond,  his  lady  faire, 

His  farewelle  thus  he  tooke  : 


"  My  Rosamonde,  my  only  Rose, 
That  pleasest  best  mine  eye  : 

The  fairest  flower  in  all  the  worlde 
To  feed  my  fantasye  : 


5* 


The  flower  of  mine  affected  heart, 

Whose  sweetness  doth  excelle  : 
My  royal  Rose,  a  thousand  times  55 

I  bid  thee  nowe  farwelle  ! 

For  I  must  leave  my  fairest  flower, 

My  sweetest  Rose,  a  space. 
And  cross  the  seas  to  famous  France, 

Proud  rebelles  to  abase.  <o 

But  yet,  my  Rose,  be  sure  thou  shalt 

My  coming  shortlye  see, 
And  in  my  heart,  when  hence  I  am, 

He  beare  my  Rose  with  mee." 

When  Rosamond,  that  ladye  brighte,  65 

Did  heare  the  king  saye  soe. 
The  sorrowe  of  her  grieved  heart 

Her  outward  lookes  did  showe  ; 

And  from  her  cleare  and  crystall  eyes 

The  teares  gusht  out  apace,  yo 

Which  like  the  silver-pearled  dewe 
Ranne  downe  her  comely  face. 

Her  lippes,  erst  like  the  corall  redde, 

Did  waxe  both  wan  and  pale, 
And  for  the  sorrow  she  conceivde  y« 

Her  vitall  spirits  faile  ; 


FAIR    ROSAMOND,  i6i 

And  falling  down  all  in  a  swoone 

Before  king  Henryes  face, 
Full  oft  he  in  his  princelye  amies 

Her  bodye  did  embrace  :  i> 

And  twentye  times,  with  watery  eyes, 

He  kist  her  tender  cheeke, 
Untlll  he  had  revivde  agfaine 

Her  senses  milde  and  meeke. 

Why  grieves  my  Rose,  my  sv/eetest  Rose  ?      '^^ 

The  king  did  often  say. 
Because,  quoth  shee,  to  bloodye  warres 

My  lord  must  part  awaye. 

But  since  your  grace  on  forrayne  coastes 

Amonge  your  foes  unkinde  90 

Must  goe  to  hazard  life  and  limbe, 
Why  should  I  staye  behinde  ? 

Nay  rather,  let  me,  like  a  page. 

Your  sworde  and  target  beare  ; 
That  on  my  breast  the  blowes  may  lighte,         55 

Which  would  offend  you  there. 

Or  lett  mee,  in  your  royal  tent, 

Prepare  your  bed  at  nighte, 
And  with  sweete  baths  refresh  your  grace, 

At  your  returne  from  fighte.  \i.<i 

So  I  your  presence  may  enjoye 

No  toil  I  will  refuse  ; 
But  wanting  you,  my  life  Is  death  ; 

Nay,  death  lid  rather  chuse! 

*'  Content  thy  self,  my  dearest  love ;  1^5 

Thy  rest  at  home  shall  bee 
In  Englandes  sweet  and  pleasant  isle ; 

For  travell  fits  not  thee. 


i62  FAIR    ROSAMOND, 

Faire  ladles  brooke  not  bloodye  warres  ; 

Soft  peace  their  sexe  delightes  ;  no 

*  Not  rugged  campes,  but  courtl^^e  bowers  ; 

Gay  feastes,  not  cruell  fightes.' 

My  Rose  shall  safely  here  abide, 

With  musicke  passe  the  daye  ; 
Whilst  I,  amonge  the  piercing  pikes,  115 

My  foes  seeke  far  awaye. 

My  Rose  shall  shine  in  pearle,  and  golde, 

Whilst  I  me  in  armour  dighte  ; 
Gay  galliards  here  my  love  shall  dance, 

Whilst  I  my  foes  goe  fighte.  120 

And  you,  sir  Thomas,  whom  I  truste 

To  bee  my  loves  defence  ; 
Be  carefull  of  my  gallant  Rose 

When  I  am  parted  hence." 

And  therewithall  he  fetcht  a  sigh,  115 

As  though  his  heart  would  breake  : 

And  Rosamonde,  for  very  griefe, 
Not  one  plaine  word  could  speake. 

And  at  their  parting  well  they  mighte 

In  heart  be  grieved  sore  :  130 

After  that  daye  faire  Rosamonde 
The  king  did  see  no  more. 

For  when  his  grace  had  past  the  seas, 

And  into  France  was  gone  ; 
With  envious  heart,  queene  Ellinor,  135 

To  Woodstocke  came  anone. 

And  forth  she  calles  this  trustye  knighte. 

In  an  unhappy  houre  ; 
Who  with  his  clue  of  twined  thread, 

Came  from  this  famous  bower.  u© 


FAIR    ROSAMOND,  763 

And  when  that  they  had  wounded  him, 

The  queene  this  thread  did  gette, 
And  went  where  ladye  Rosamonde 

Was  like  an  angell  sette. 

But  when  the  queene  with  stedfast  eye  145 

Beheld  her  beauteous  face, 
She  was  amazed  in  her  minde 

At  her  exceeding  grace. 

Cast  off  from  thee  those  robes,  she  said, 

That  riche  and  costlye  bee  ;  150 

And  drinke  thou  up  this  deadlye  draught, 
Which  I  have  brought  to  thee. 

Then  presentlye  upon  her  knees 

Sweet  Rosamonde  did  falle  ; 
And  pardon  of  the  queene  she  crav'd  155 

For  her  offences  all. 

'*  Take  pitty  on  my  youthfull  yeares, 

Faire  Rosamonde  did  crye  ; 
And  lett  mee  not  with  poison  stronge 

Enforced  bee  to  dye.  160 

I  will  renounce  my  sinfull  life, 

And  in  some  cloyster  bide  ; 
Or  else  be  banisht,  if  you  please, 

To  range  the  world  soe  wide. 

And  for  the  fault  which  I  have  done,  165 

Though  I  was  forc'd  theretoe. 
Preserve  my  life,  and  punish  mee 

As  you  thinke  meet  to  doe." 

And  with  these  words,  her  lillie  handes 

She  wrunge  full  often  there  ;  170 

And  downe  along  her  lovely  face 
Did  trickle  many  a  teare. 


i64  FAIR    ROSAMOND. 

But  nothing  could  this  furious  queene 

Therewith  appeased  bee ; 
The  cup  of  deadlye  poyson  stronge,  175 

As  she  knelt  on  her  knee, 

Shee  gave  this  comelye  dame  to  drinke  ; 

Who  tooke  it  in  her  hand, 
And  from  her  bended  knee  arose, 

And  on  her  feet  did  stand :  180 

And  casting  up  her  eyes  to  heaven, 

Shee  did  for  mercye  calle ; 
And  drinking  up  the  poyson  stronge, 

Her  life  she  lost  withalle. 

And  when  that  death  through  everye  limbe    185 

Had  showde  its  greatest  spite, 
Her  chiefest  foes  did  plaine  confesse 

Shee  was  a  glorious  wighte. 

Her  body  then  they  did  entomb, 

When  life  was  fled  away,  190 

At  Godstowe,  neare  to  Oxford  towne, 

As  may  be  seene  this  day. 


VOL 
QUEEN   ELEANOR'S  CONFESSION. 

|,LEANOR,  the  daughter  and  heiress  of  William  duke  of 
Guienne,  and  count  of  Poictou,  had  been  married  six- 
teen years  to  Louis  VII.  king  of  France,  and  had 
attended  him  in  a  croisade,  which  that  monarch  com- 
manded against  the  infidels  ;  but  having  lost  the  affections  of  her 
husband,  and  even  fallen  under  some  suspicions  of  gallantry  with 
a  handsome  Saracen,  Louis,  more  delicate  than  politic,  procured  a^ 


Q.    ELEANOR'S    CONFESSION,     165 

divorce  from  her,  and  restored  her  those  rich  provinces,  which  by 
her  marriage  she  had  annexed  to  the  crown  of  France.  The 
young  count  of  Anjou,  afterwards  Henry  II.  king  of  England, 
tho'  at  that  time  but  in  his  nineteenth  year,  neither  discouraged 
by  the  disparity  of  age,  nor  by  the  reports  of  Eleanor's  gallantry, 
made  such  successful  courtship  to  that  princess,  that  he  married 
her  six  weeks  after  her  divorce,  and  got  possession  of  all  her 
dominions  as  a  dowery.  A  marriage  thus  founded  upon  interest 
was  not  likely  to  be  very  happy :  it  happened  accordingly, 
Eleanor,  who  had  disgusted  her  first  husband  by  her  gallantries, 
was  no  less  offensive  to  her  second  by  her  jealousy  :  thus  carrying 
to  extremity,  in  the  different  parts  of  her  life,  every  circumstance 
■of  female  weakness.  She  had  several  sons  by  Henry,  whom  she 
spirited  up  to  rebel  against  him ;  and  endeavouring  to  escape  to 
them  disguised  in  man's  apparel  in  1173,  she  was  discovered  and 
thrown  into  a  confinement,  which  seems  to  have  continued  till  the 
death  of  her  husband  in  11 89.  She  however  survived  him  many 
years  :  dying  in  1204,  in  the  sixth  year  of  the  reign  of  her  youngest 
■son,  John."  See  Hume's  Hist.  4to.  vol.  i.  pp.  260,  307.  Speed, 
Stow,  &c. 

It  is  needless  to  observe,  that  the  following  ballad  (given,  with 
some  corrections,  from  an  old  printed  copy)  is  altogether  fabulous ; 
whatever  gallantries  Eleanor  encouraged  in  the  time  of  her  first 
husband,  none  are  imputed  to  her  in  that  of  her  second. 

[The  idea  of  the  unlucky  shrift  exhibited  in  the  following  ballad 
is  taken  from  some  old  story-teller.  It  occurs  among  the  tales  of 
Boccaccio,  Bandello,  Barbazan,  La  Fontaine,  and  several  other 
•writers. 

A  copy  of  this  ballad,  differing  very  considerably  from  the  pre- 
■sent  version,  is  to  be  found  in  Kinloch's  Ancient  Scottish  Ballads, 
The  first  stanza  is  as  follows  : — 

"The  queen  fell  sick,  and  very,  very  sick 

She  was  sick  and  like  to  dee 
And  she  sent  for  a  frier  oure  frae  France 

Her  confessour  to  be." 

The  last  stanza  but  four  reads : — 

**  And  do  you  see  yon  pretty  little  girl 

That's  a  beclad  in  green  ? 
She's  a  friar's  daughter  oure  in  France 

And  I  hoped  to  see  her  a  queen." 

And  the  end  as  follows  : — 


i66  QUEEN   ELEANOR'S 

"  The  king  look'd  over  his  left  shoulder, 

An  angry  man  was  he  : — 
An  it  werna  for  the  oath  I  sware 

Earl  Marshall,  thou  shouldst  dee." 

Another  version,  recovered  from  recitation,  and  more  like 
Percy's  than  Kinloch's,  is  printed  by  Motherwell  in  his  Minstrelsy, 
under  the  title  of  "  Earl  Marshall."] 


^^g^, UEENE  Elianor  was  a  sicke  woman. 
And  afraid  that  she  should  dye  : 
Then  she  sent  for  two  fryars  of  France 
To  speke  with  her  speedilye. 

The  king  calld  downe  his  nobles  all,  5 

By  one,  by  two,  by  three ; 
"  Earl  marshall,  He  goe  shrive  the  queene, 

And  thou  shalt  wend  with  mee." 

A  boone,  a  boone  ;  quoth  earl  marshall, 

And  fell  on  his  bended  knee  ;  10 

That  whatsoever  queene  Elianor  saye, 
No  harme  therof  may  bee. 

He  pawne  my  landes,  the  king  then  cryd, 

My  sceptre,  crowne,  and  all, 
That  whatsoere  queen  Elianor  sayes  if 

No  harme  thereof  shall  fall. 

Do  thou  put  on  a  fryars  coat, 

And  He  put  on  another  ; 
And  we  will  to  queen  Elianor  goe 

Like  fryar  and  his  brother.  aa 

Thus  both  attired  then  they  goe : 

When  they  came  to  Whitehall, 
The  bells  did  ring,  and  the  quiristers  sing. 

And  the  torches  did  llghte  them  all. 


I 


CONFESSION,  167 

When  that  they  came  before  the  queene  25 

They  fell  on  their  bended  knee ; 
A  boone,  a  boone,  our  gracious  queene, 

That  you  sent  so  hastilee. 

Are  you  two  fryars  of  France,  she  sayd, 

As  I  suppose  you  bee,  3c 

But  if  you  are  two  Englishe  fryars, 
You  shall  hang  on  the  gallowes  tree. 

We  are  two  fryars  of  France,  they  sayd, 

As  you  suppose  we  bee. 
We  have  not  been  at  any  masse  55 

Sith  we  came  from  the  sea. 

The  first  vile  thinof  that  ever  I  did 

I  will  to  you  unfolde ; 
Earl  marshall  had  my  maldenhed, 

Beneath  this  cloth  of  golde.  40 

Thats  a  vile  sinne,  then  sayd  the  king ; 

May  God  forgive  it  thee  ! 
Amen,  amen,  quoth  earl  marshall ; 

With  a  heavye  heart  spake  hee. 

The  next  vile  thing  that  ever  I  did,  45 

To  you  He  not  denye, 
I  made  a  boxe  of  poyson  strong, 

To  poison  king  Henrye. 

Thats  a  vile  sinne,  then  sayd  the  king, 

May  God  forgive  it  thee  !  50 

Amen,  amen,  quoth  earl  marshall ; 
And  I  wish  it  so  may  bee. 

The  next  vile  thing  that  ever  I  did, 

To  you  I  will  discover ; 
I  poysoned  fair  Rosamonde,  55 

All  In  fair  Woodstocke  bower. 


i68     Q,    ELEANOR'S    CONEESSWN. 

Thats  a  vile  sinne,  then  sayd  the  king  ; 

May  God  forgive  it  thee  ! 
Amen,  amen,  quoth  earl  marshall ; 

And  I  wish  it  so  may  bee.  to  * 

Do  you  see  yonders  little  boye, 

A  tossing  of  the  balle  ? 
That  is  earl  marshalls  eldest  sonne, 

And  I  love  him  the  best  of  all. 

Do  you  see  yonders  little  boye,  65 

A  catching  of  the  balle  ? 
That  is  king  Henry es  youngest  sonne, 

And  I  love  him  the  worst  of  all. 

His  head  is  fashyon'd  like  a  bull ;  70 

His  nose  is  like  a  boare. 
No  matter  for  that,  king  Henrye  cryd, 

I  love  him  the  better  therfore. 

The  king  pulled  off  his  fryars  coate. 

And  appeared  all  in  redde  :  75 

She  shrieked,  and  cryd,  and  wrung  her  hands. 

And  sayd  she  was  betrayde. 

The  king  lookt  over  his  left  shoulder, 

And  a  grimme  look  looked  hee, 
Earl  marshall,  he  sayd,  but  for  my  oathe,  80 

Or  hanofed  thou  shouldst  bee. 

o 


Ver.  63,  67.  She  means  that  the  eldest  of  these  two  was  by  the 
earl  marshall,  the  youngest  by  the  king. 


THE    STURDY   ROCK.  169 

IX. 
THE  STURDY  ROCK. 


^^HIS  poem,  subscribed  M.  T.  (perhaps  invertedly  for 
T.  Marshall*)  is  preserved  in  The  Paradise  of  Daintie 
Devises.  The  two  first  stanzas  may  be  found  accom- 
panied with  musical  notes  in  "An  howres  recrea- 
tion in  musicke,  &c.  by  Richard  Alison,  Lond.  1606,  4to." 
usually  bound  up  with  three  or  four  sets  of  "  Madrigals  set  to 
music  by  Tho.  Weelkes,  Lond.  1597,  1600,  1608,  4to."  One  of 
these  madrigals  is  so  compleat  an  example  of  the  bathos,  that  I 
cannot  forbear  presenting  it  to  the  reader  : — 

**  Thule,  the  period  of  cosmographie. 

Doth  vaunt  of  Hecla,  whose  sulphureous  fire 

Doth  melt  the  frozen  clime,  and  thaw  the  skie, 
Trinacrian  ^tna^s  flames  ascend  not  hier : 

These  things  seeme  wondrous,  yet  more  wondrous  I, 

Whose  heart  with  feare  doth  freeze,  with  love  doth  fry. 

"  The  Andelusian  merchant,  that  returnes 

Laden  with  cutchinele  and  china  dishes, 
Reports  in  Spaine,  how  strangely  Logo  burnes 

Amidst  an  ocean  full  of  flying  fishes : 
These  things  seeme  wondrous,  yet  more  wondrous  I, 
Whose  heart  with  feare  doth  freeze,  with  love  doth  fry." 

Mr.  Weelkes  seems  to  have  been  of  opinion,  with  many  of  his 
brethren  of  later  times,  that  nonsense  was  best  adapted  to  display 
the  powers  of  musical  composure. 

[Percy's  conjecture  that  the  author  is  Marshall  is  not  a  happy 
one.  Sir  Egerton  Brydges,  in  his  edition  of  the  Paradise,  18 10 
{Bi'itisJi  Bibliographer^  vol.  iii.),  attributes  it  to  M.  Thorn,  whose 
name  is  signed  to  another  poem,  numbered  52  : — 

"  Now  mortall  man  beholde  and  see, 
This  worlde  is  but  a  vanitie," 

written  in  much  the  same  spirit.  I'he  heading  to  the  Sturdy 
Rock  is : — 

"  Man's  flitting  life  fyndes  surest  stay, 

Where  sacred  vertue  beareth  sway."] 

*  Vid.  A  then.  Oxnn.  pp.  152,  316. 


170 


THE    STURDY   ROCK, 


I 


HE  sturdy  rock  for  all  his  strength 
By  raging-  seas  is  rent  in  twaine : 
The  marble  stone  is  pearst  at  length, 
With  little  drops  of  drizling  rain  : 
The  oxe  doth  yeeld  unto  the  yoke, 
The  Steele  obeyeth  the  hammer  stroke. 

The  stately  stagge,  that  seemes  so  stout, 
By  yalping  hounds  at  bay  is  set : 

The  swiftest  bird,  that  flies  about, 
Is  caught  at  length  in  fowlers  net : 

The  greatest  fish,  in  deepest  brooke. 

Is  soon  deceived  by  subtill  hooke. 

Yea  man  himselfe,  unto  whose  will 
All  things  are  bounden  to  obey, 

For  all  his  wit  and  worthie  skill, 
Doth  fade  at  length,  and  fall  away. 

There  is  nothing  but  time  doeth  waste ; 

The  heavens,  the  earth  consume  at  last. 

But  vertue  sits  triumphing  still 

Upon  the  throne  of  glorious  fame  : 

Though  spiteful  death  mans  body  kill, 
Yet  hurts  he  not  his  vertuous  name  : 

By  life  or  death  what  so  betides. 

The  state  of  vertue  never  slides. 


10 


«5 


%9 


THE    BEGGAR'S   DAUGHTER,     171 


li; 


THE    BEGGAR'S    DAUGHTER    OF 
BEDNALL-GREEN. 

■V^^HIS  popular  old  ballad  was  written  in  the  reign  of 
^1  vS>y  Elizabeth,  as  appears  not  only  from  ver.  23,  where  the 
;^?g^  arms  of  England  are  called  the  "  Queenes  armes  ;"  but 
^5h  from  its  tune's  being  quoted  in  other  old  pieces, 
written  in  her  time.  See  the  ballad  on  Mary  Ambi-ee  in  this 
vol-ame.  The  late  Mr.  Guthrie  assured  the  editor  that  he  had 
formerly  seen  another  old  song  on  the  same  subject,  composed  in 
i  different  measure  from  this;  which  was  truly  beautiful,  if  we 
cnay  judge  from  the  only  stanza  he  remembered.  In  this  it  was 
iaid  of  the  old  beggar,  that  "  down  his  neck 

" his  reverend  lockes 

In  comelye  curies  did  wave ; 
And  on  his  aged  temples  grewe 

The  blossomes  of  the  grave." 

The  following  ballad  is  chiefly  given  from  the  Editor's  folio  MS, 
compared  with  two  ancient  printed  copies  :  the  concluding  stanzas, 
which  contain  the  old  beggar's  discovery  of  himself,  are  not  how- 
ever given  from  any  of  these,  being  very  different  from  those  of 
the  vulgar  ballad.  Nor  yet  does  the  Editor  offer  them  as  genuine, 
but  as  a  modern  attempt  to  remove  the  absurdities  and  incon- 
sistencies, which  so  remarkably  prevailed  in  this  part  of  the  song, 
as  it  stood  before :  whereas  by  the  alteration  of  a  few  lines,  the 
story  is  rendered  much  more  affecting,  and  is  reconciled  to  proba- 
bility and  true  history.  For  this  informs  us,  that  at  the  decisive 
battle  of  Evesham  (fought  Aug.  4,  1265),  when  Simon  de  Mont- 
fort,  the  great  Earl  of  Leicester,  was  slain  at  the  head  of  the 
barons,  his  eldest  son  Henry  fell  by  his  side,  and  in  consequence 
of  that  defeat,  his  whole  family  sunk  for  ever,  the  king  bestowing 
their  great  honours  and  possessions  on  his  second  son,  Edmund 
earl  of  Lancaster. 

[This  charming  old  ballad  has  enjoyed  a  long  life  of  popularity, 
and  according  to  Mr.  Chappell  it  is  still  kept  in  print  in  Seven 
Dials,  and  sung  about  the  country.  As  it  is  to  be  found  in  most 
collections,  it  has  not  been  thought  necessary  to  take  note  of  the 


172     THE    BEGGAR'S    DAUGHTER 

various  trifling  alterations  which  Percy  made,  but  the  six  stanzas 
which  he  ejected  in  favour  of  the  eight  between  brackets  are 
printed  at  the  end.  A  few  of  the  alterations  are  improvements, 
but  most  of  them  are  the  reverse;  thus,  in  place  of  the  received 
reading  of  verse  28, 

'*  Was  straightway  in  love  with  pretty  Bessee." 

Percy  prints 

*'  Was  straightway  enamourd  of  pretty  Bessee." 

Mr.  John  Pickford  {IVofes  and  Queries,  4th  Series,  vol.  ix. 
p.  64)  once  possessed  an  old  mezzotint  engraving  of  the  EHnd 
Beggar  of  a  large  folio  size,  on  the  margin  of  which  were  inscribed 
the  lines  referred  to  above.  In  Robert  Greene's  Fandosto  (1588), 
from  which  Shakspere  drew  the  plot  of  his  Winte7''s  Tale,  there  is 
the  same  simile  as  is  used  in  these  verses.  Egistus  says : — "  Thou 
seest  my  white  hayres  are  blossom es  for  the  grave." 

Pepys  in  his  Diary  (25th  June,  1663),  speaks  of  going  to 
dinner  with  Sir  William  and  Lady  Batten  and  Sir  J.  Minnes  to  Sir 
William  Ryder's  at  Bethnall  Green,  and  adds :  "  This  very  house 
was  built  by  the  blind  beggar  of  Bednall  Green,  so  much  talked  of 
and  sang  in  ballads,  but  they  say  it  was  only  some  outhouse  of  if 
The  mansion  was  built  by  John  Kirby,  a  citizen  of  London,  in  the 
reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  afterwards  became  the  residence  ot 
Sir  Hugh  Piatt,  author  of  The  Jeivell  House  of  Art  and  Nature, ' 
1594  j  The  Garden  of  Ede?i,  &c.     Ryder  died  there  in  1669.] 


Part  the  First. 

;TT  was  a  blind  beggar,  had  long  lost  his 
sight, 
He  had  a  faire  daughter  of  bewty  most 
bright ; 

And  many  a  gallant  brave  suiter  had  shee, 
For  none  was  soe  comelye  as  pretty  Bessee. 

And  though  shee  was  of  favor  most  faire,  5 

Yett  seeing  shee  was  but  a  poor  beggars  heyre, 
Of  ancyent  housekeepers  despised  was  shee, 
Whose  sonnes  came  as  suitors  to  prettye  Bessee. 


OF  BEDNALL-GREEN,  173 

Wherefore  in  great  sorrow  faire  Bessy  did  say, 
Good  father,  and  mother,  let  me  goe  away  10 

To  seeke  out  my  fortune,  whatever  itt  bee. 
This  suite  then  they  granted  to  prettye  Bessee. 

Then  Bessy,  that  was  of  bewtye  soe  bright, 
All  cladd  in  gray  russett,  and  late  in  the  night 
From  father  and  mother  alone  parted  shee ;  15 

Who  sighed  and  sobbed  for  prettye  Bessee. 

Shee  went  till  shee  came  to  Stratford-le-Bow ; 
Then  knew  shee  not  whither,  nor  which  way  to  goe  : 
With  teares  shee  lamented  her  hard  destinie, 
So  sadd  and  soe  heavy  was  pretty  Bessee.  20 

Shee  kept  on  her  journey  untill  it  was  day, 
And  went  unto  Rumford  along  the  hye  way ; 
Where  at  the  Queenes  armes  entertained  was  shee ; 
Soe  faire  and  wel  favoured  was  pretty  Bessee. 

Shee  had  not  beene  there  a  month  to  an  end,  15 

But  master  and  mistres  and  all  was  her  friend : 
Anci  every  brave  gallant,  that  once  did  her  see, 
Was  straight- way  enamourd  of  pretty  Bessee. 

Great  gifts  they  did  send  her  of  silver  and  gold. 
And  in  their  songs  daylye  her  love  was  extold ;       30 
Her  beawtye  was  blazed  in  every  degree ; 
Soe  faire  and  soe  comelye  was  pretty  Bessee. 

The  young  men  of  Rumford  in  her  had  their  joy  ; 
Shee  shewed  herself  curteous,  and  modestlye  coye  ; 
And  at  her  commandment  still  wold  they  bee ;        35 
Soe  fayre  and  soe  comlye  was  pretty  Bessee. 

Foure  suitors  att  once  unto  her  did  goe ; 

They  craved  her  favor,  but  still  she  sayd  noe ; 

I  wold  not  wish  gentles  to  marry  with  mee. 

Yett  ever  they  honored  prettye  Bessee.  4?: 


174     THE    BEGGAR'S   DAUGHTER 

The  first  of  them  was  a  gallant  young  knight, 
And  he  came  unto  her  disguisde  in  the  night : 
The  second  a  gentleman  of  good  degree, 
Who  wooed  and  sued  for  prettye  Bessee. 

A  merchant  of  London,  whose  wealth  was  not  small,  45 
He  was  the  third  suiter,  and  proper  withall : 
Her  masters  own  sonne  the  fourth  man  must  bee, 
Who  swore  he  would  dye  for  pretty  Bessee. 

And,  if  thou  wilt  marry  with  mee,  quoth  the  knight. 
He  make  thee  a  ladye  with  joy  and  delight  ;  50 

My  hart's  so  inthralled  by  thy  bewtie. 
That  soone  I  shall  dye  for  prettye  Bessee. 

The  gentleman  sayd,  Come,  marry  with  mee, 

As  fine  as  a  ladye  my  Bessy  shal  bee  : 

My  life  is  distressed  :  O  heare  me,  quoth  hee ;         55 

And  grant  me  thy  love,  my  prettye  Bessee. 

Let  me  bee  thy  husband,  the  merchant  cold  say. 
Thou  shalt  live  in  London  both  gallant  and  gay  ; 
My  shippes  shall  bring  home  rych  Jewells  for  thee, 
And  I  will  for  ever  love  pretty  Bessee.  60 

Then  Bessy  shee  sighed,  and  thus  shee  did  say. 
My  father  and  mother  I  meane  to  obey ; 
First  gett  their  good  will,  and  be  faithfull  to  mee, 
And  you  shall  enjoye  your  prettye  Bessee. 

To  every  one  this  answer  shee  made,  65 

Wherfore  unto  her  they  joyfullye  sayd. 

This  thing  to  fulfill  wee  all  doe  agree ; 

But  where  dwells  thy  father,  my  prettye  Bessee  ? 

My  father,  shee  said,  is  soone  to  be  seene : 

The  seely  blind  beggar  of  Bednall-greene,  70 

That  daylye  sits  begging  for  charitie. 

He  is  the  good  father  of  pretty  Bessee. 


OF   BEDNALL-GREEM.  .75 

His  markes  and  his  tokens  are  knowen  very  well ; 
He  alwayes  is  led  with  a  dogg  and  a  bell : 
A  seely  olde  man,  God  knoweth,  is  hee,  75 

Vett  hee  is  the  father  of  pretty  Bessee. 

Nay  then,  quoth  the  merchant,  thou  art  not  for  mee  : 
Nor,  quoth  the  Innholder,  my  wiffe  thou  shalt  bee: 
I  lothe,  sayd  the  gentle,  a  beggars  degree, 
And  therefore,  adewe,  my  pretty  Bessee  !  80 

Why  then,  quoth  the  knight,  hap  better  or  worse, 
I  walghe  not  true  love  by  the  waight  of  the  pursse, 
And  bewtye  is  bewtye  in  every  degree  ; 
Then  welcome  unto  me,  my  pretty  Bessee. 

With  thee  to  thy  father  forthwith  I  will  goe.  85 

Nay  soft,  quoth  his  kinsmen,  it  must  not  be  soe  ; 
A  poor  beggars  daughter  noe  ladye  shal  bee, 
Then  take  thy  adew  of  prett}^  Bessee. 

But  soone  after  this,  by  breake  of  the  day 
The  knight  had  from  Rumford  stole  Bessy  away,   vo 
The  younge  men  of  Rumford,  as  thicke  [as]  might  bee, 
Rode  after  to  feitch  againe  pretty  Bessee. 

As  swifte  as  the  winde  to  ryde  they  were  seene, 
Untill  they  came  neare  unto  Bednall-greene ; 
And  as  the  knight  lighted  most  courteouslie,  95 

They  all  fought  against  him  for  pretty  Bessee. 

But  rescew  came  speedilye  over  the  plalne, 

Or  else  the  young  knight  for  his  love  had  been  slaine. 

This  fray  being  ended,  then  straltway  he  see 

His  kinsmen  come  rayling  at  pretty  Bessee.  100 

Then  spake  the  blind  beggar.  Although  I  bee  poore, 
Yett  rayle  not  against  my  child  at  my  own  doore  : 
Though  shee  be  not  decked  in  velvett  and  pearle, 
Yett  will  I  dropp  angells  with  you  for  my  girle. 


176     THE    BEGGAR'S   DAUGHTER 

And  then,  if  my  g-old  may  better  her  birthe,  105 

And  equall  the  gold  that  you  lay  on  the  earth, 
Then  neyther  rayle  nor  grudge  you  to  see 
The  blind  beggars  daughter  a  lady  to  bee. 

But  first  you  shall  promise,  and  have  itt  well  knowne, 
The  gold  that  you  drop  shall  all  be  your  owne.      no 
With  that  they  replyed.  Contented  bee  wee. 
Then  here's,  quoth  the  beggar,  for  pretty  Bessee. 

With  that  an  angell  he  cast  on  the  ground, 
And  dropped  in  angels  full  three  thousand*  pound  ; 
And  oftentimes  itt  was  proved  most  plaine,  115 

For  the  gentlemens  one  the  beggar  dropt  twayne  : 

Soe  that  the  place,  wherin  they  did  sitt, 

With  gold  it  was  covered  every  whitt. 

The  gentlemen  then  having  dropt  all  their  store, 

Sayd,  Now,  beggar,  hold,  for  wee  have  noe  more.    120 

Thou  hast  fuliilled  thy  promise  arright. 
Then  marry,  quoth  he,  my  girle  to  this  knight ; 
And  heere,  added  hee,  I  will  now  throwe  you  downe 
A  hundred  pounds  more  to  buy  her  a  gowne. 

The  gentlemen  all,  that  this  treasure  had  scene,     125 
Admired  the  beggar  of  Bednall-greene  : 
And  all  those,  that  were  her  suitors  before, 
Their  fleshe  for  very  anger  they  tore. 

Thus  was  faire  Besse  matched  to  the  knight, 

And  then  made  a  ladye  in  others  despite  :  130 

A  fairer  ladye  there  never  was  scene, 

Than  the  blind  beggars  daughter  of  Bednall-greene. 


In  the  Editor's  folio  ]\IS.  it  is  ^^500. 


OF   BEDNALL-GREEN,  177 

But  of  their  sumptuous  marriage  and  feast, 
What  brave  lords  and  knights  thither  were  prest, 
The  second  fitt*  shall  set  forth  to  your  sight         j-^s 
With  marvellous  pleasure,  and  wished  delight. 


Part  the  Second. 

FF  a  blind  beggars  daughter  most  bright; 
That   late  was  betrothed  unto  a  younge 

knight ; 
All  the  discourse  therof  you  did  see ; 
But  now  comes  the  wedding  of  pretty  Bessee. 

Within  a  gorgeous  palace  most  brave,  5 

Adorned  with  all  the  cost  they  cold  have, 
This  wedding  was  kept  most  sumptuouslie, 
And  all  for  the  creditt  of  pretty  Bessee. 

All  kind  of  dainties,  and  delicates  sweete 
Were  bought  for  the  banquet,  as  it  was  most  meete  ;   la 
Partridge,  and  plover,  and  venison  most  free, 
Against  the  brave  wedding  of  pretty  Bessee. 

This  marriage  through  England  was  spread  by  report, 
Soe  that  a  great  number  therto  did  resort 
Of  nobles  and  gentles  in  every  degree  ;  15 

And  all  for  the  fame  of  prettye  Bessee. 

To  church  then  went  this  gallant  younge  knight ; 
His  bride  followed  after,  an  angell  most  bright. 
With  troopes  of  ladyes,  the  like  nere  was  seene 
As  went  with  sweete  Bessy  of  Bednall-greene.         2a 

This  marryage  being  solempnized  then. 
With  musicke  performed  by  the  skilfullest  men, 
The  nobles  and  gentles  sate  downe  at  that  tyde, 
Each  one  admiring  the  beautifuU  bryde. 


*  See  an  essay  on  the  wordyf/  at  the  end  of  the  second  part. 
2  N 


178     THE    BEGGAR'S    DAUGHTER 

Now,  after  the  sumptuous  dinner  was  done,  25 

To  talke,  and  to  reason  a  number  begunn  : 
They  talkt  of  the  bHnd  beggars  daughter  most  bright, 
And  what  with  his  daughter  he  gave  to  the  knight. 

Then  spake  the  nobles,  ''  Much  marveil  have  wee, 
This  jolly  blind  beggar  wee  cannot  here  see."  30 

My  lords,  quoth  the  bride,  my  father  s  so  base, 
He  is  loth  with  his  presence  these  states  to  disgrace. 

*'  The  prayse  of  a  woman  in  questyon  to  bringe 
Before  her  own  face,  were  a  flattering  thinge ; 
But  wee  thinke  thy  father  s  baseness,"  quoth  they,  35 
''  Might  by  thy  bewtye  be  cleane  put  awaye." 

They  had  noe  sooner  these  pleasant  words  spoke, 
But  in  comes  the  beggar  cladd  in  a  silke  cloke  ; 
A  faire  velvet  capp,  and  a  fether  had  hee, 
And  now  a  musicyan  forsooth  he  wold  bee.  40 

He  had  a  daintye  lute  under  his  arme, 
He  touched  the  strings,  which  made  such  a  charme, 
Saies,  Please  you  to  heare  any  musicke  of  mee, 
He  sing  you  a  song  of  pretty  Bessee. 

With  that  his  lute  he  twanged  straightway,  45 

And  thereon  begann  most  sweetlye  to  play ; 
And  after  that  lessons  were  playd  two  or  three, 
He  strayn'd  out  this  song  most  delicatelie. 

''  A  poore  beggars  daughter  did  dwell  on  a  greene, 
Who  for  her  fairenesse  might  well  be  a  queene  :      50 
A  blithe  bonny  lasse,  and  a  daintye  was  shee, 
And  many  one  called  her  pretty  Bessee. 

"  Her  father  hee  had  noe  goods,  nor  noe  land. 
But  beggd  for  a  penny  all  day  with  his  hand  ; 
And  yett  to  her  marriage  hee  gave  thousands  three,*  55 
And  still  he  hath  somewhat  for  pretty  Bessee. 

*  So  the  folio  MS. 


OF   BEDNALL-GREEN,  179 

*'  And  if  any  one  here  her  birth  doe  disdainp, 
Her  father  is  ready,  with  might  and  with  maine, 
To  proove  shee  is  come  of  noble  degree  : 
Therfore  never  flout  att  prettye  Bessee."  6c 

With  that  the  lords  and  the  companye  round 
With  harty  laughter  were  readye  to  swound  ; 
Att  last  said  the  lords,  Full  well  wee  may  see, 
The  bride  and  the  beggar's  behoulden  to  thee. 

On  this  the  bride  all  blushing  did  rise,  65 

The  pearlie  dropps  standing  within  her  faire  eyes, 
O  pardon  my  father,  grave  nobles,  quoth  shee, 
That  throughe  blind  affection  thus  doteth  on  mee. 

If  this  be  thy  father,  the  nobles  did  say. 

Well  may  he  be  proud  of  this  happy  day  ;  70 

Yett  by  his  countenance  well  may  wee  see, 

His  birth  and  his  fortune  did  never  agree  : 

And  therfore,  blind  man,  we  pray  thee  bewray, 
(And  looke  that  the  truth  thou  to  us  doe  say) 
Thy  birth  and  thy  parentage,  what  itt  may  bee ;      ts 
For  the  love  that  thou  bearest  to  pretty  Bessee.'* 

^'  Then  give  me  leave,  nobles  and  gentles,  each  one. 
One  song  more  to  sing,  and  then  I  have  done ; 
And  if  that  itt  may  not  winn  good  report, 
Then  doe  not  give  me  a  groat  for  my  sport.  80 

"  [Sir  Simon  de  Montfort  my  subject  shal  bee  ; 
Once  chiefe  of  all  the  great  barons  was  hee, 
Yet  fortune  so  cruelle  this  lorde  did  abase, 
Now  loste  and  forgotten  are  hee  and  his  race. 

''  When  the  barons  in  armes  did  king  Henry e  oppose, 
Sir  Simon  de  Montfort  their  leader  they  chose ;       86 
A  leader  of  courage  undaunted  was  hee, 
And  oft-times  he  made  their  enemyes  flee. 


i8o     THE    BEGGAR'S   DAUGHTER 

"  At  length  in  the  battle  on  Eveshame  plalne* 
The  barons  were  routed,  and  Montfort  v/as  slaine  ;   90 
Moste  fatall  that  battel  did  prove  unto  thee, 
Thoughe  thou  wast  not  borne  then,  my  prettye  Bessee  f 

"  Along  with  the  nobles,  that  fell  at  that  tyde, 
His  eldest  son  Henrye,  who  fought  by  his  side, 
Was  fellde  by  a  blowe,  he  receivde  in  the  fight  !     95 
A  blowe  that  deprivde  him  for  ever  of  sight. 

''Among  the  dead  bodyes  all  lifelesse  he  laye, 
Till  evening  drewe  on  of  the  following  daye, 
When  by  a  yong  ladye  discoverd  was  hee  ; 
And  this  was  thy  mother,  my  prettye  Bessee !        100 

''  A  baron's  faire  daughter  stept  forth  in  the  nighte 
To  search  for  her  father,  who  fell  in  the  fight, 
And  seeing  yong  Montfort,  where  gasping  he  laye^ 
Was  moved  with  pitye,  and  brought  him  awaye. 

**  In  secrette  she  nurst  him,  and  swaged  his  paine,  105 
While  he  throughe  the  realme  was  beleevd  to  be 

slaine : 
At  lengthe  his  faire  bride  she  consented  to  bee, 
And  made  him  glad  father  of  prettye  Bessee. 

"  And  nowe  lest  oure  foes  our  lives  sholde  betraye. 
We  clothed  ourselves  in  beggars  arraye  ;  na 

Her  jewelles  shee  solde,  and  hither  came  wee  : 
All  our  comfort  and  care  was  our  prettye  Bessee.] 

**  And  here  have  wee  lived  in  fortunes  despite, 
Thoughe  poore,  yet  contented  with  humble  delighte  : 
Full  forty  winters  thus  have  I  beene  115 

A  silly  blind  beggar  of  Bednall-greene. 

*  The  battle  of  Evesham  was  fought  on  August  4,  1265. 


OF   BEDNALL-GREEN,  i8i 

*'  And  here,  noble  lordes,  is  ended  the  song 
Of  one,  that  once  to  your  own  ranke  did  belong  : 
And  thus  have  you  learned  a  secrette  from  mee, 
I'hat  ne'er  had  beene  knowne,  but  for  prettye 

Bessee."  i»o 

Now  when  the  faire  companye  everye  one, 
1  1  ad  heard  the  strange  tale  in  the  song  he  had  showne, 
1  hey  all  were  amazed,  as  well  they  might  bee, 
Both  at  the  blinde  beggar,  and  pretty  Bessee. 

With  that  the  faire  bride  they  all  did  embrace,       125 
Saying,  Sure  thou  art  come  of  an  honourable  race, 
1  hy  father  likewise  is  of  noble  degree, 
And  thou  art  well  worthy  a  lady  to  bee. 

Thus  was  the  feast  ended  with  joye  and  delighte, 
A  bridegroome  most  happy  then  was  the  young 

knighte,  130 

In  joy  and  felicitie  long  lived  hee, 
All  with  his  faire  ladye,  the  pretty  Bessee. 


HE  following  stanzas  (11.  217-240  of  the  whole  ballad), 
were  rejected  by  Percy  in  favour  of  the  verses  above 
which  are  between  brackets,  and  were  written  by 
Robert  Dodsley,  the  bookseller  and  author : — 

^*  When  ffirst  our  king  his  fifame  did  Advance, 
&  fought  for  his  title  in  delicate  ffrance, 
in  many  a  place  many  perills  past  hee  : 
then  was  not  borne  my  pretty  Bessye. 

**  And  then  in  those  warres  went  over  to  fight 
many  a  braue  duke,  a  Lor^,  &  a  Y^nighX.^ 
&  w/th  them  younge  Mountford,  his  courage  most  free ; 
but  then  was  not  borne  my  pretty  Bessye. 

**  Att  Bloyes  there  chanced  a  terrible  day, 

where  many  braue  ffrenchmen  vpon  the  ground  Lay ; 


1 82     THE  BEGGAR'S    DAUGHTER 

amonge  them  Lay  Mountford  for  company e : 
but  then  was  not  borne  my  pretty  Bessye.* 

"  But  there  did  younge  Mountford,  by  blow  on  the  face, 

loose  both  his  eyes  in  a  very  short  space ; 

&  alsoe  his  liffe  had  beene  gone  w/th  his  sight, 

had  not  a  younge  woman  come  forth  in  the  night 

"  Amongst  the  slaine  men,  as  fancy  did  moue, 
to  search  &  to  seeke  for  her  owne  true  loue  ; 
&  seeing  young  Mountford  there  gasping  to  bee, 
shee  saued  his  liffe  through  charitye. 

*'  And  then  all  our  vittalls,  in  Beggar  attire 
att  hands  of  good  people  wee  then  did  require. 
att  last  into  England,  as  now  it  is  scene, 
wee  came,  &  remained  att  Bednall  greene."t] 

tji"  The  wordyz/,  for  part^  often  occurs  in  our  ancient  ballads 
and  metrical  romances  :  which  being  divided  into  several  parts  for 
the  convenience  of  singing  them  at  public  entertainments,  were  in 
the  intervals  of  the  feast  sung  by  fits,  or  intermissions.  So  Put- 
X.t'c^2.m.\n\\\?>  Art  of  English  Poesie^  15^9?  says:  "the  Epithalamie 
was  divided  by  breaches  into  three  partes  to  serve  for  three  several 
fits,  or  times  to  be  sung."     P.  41. 

From  the  same  writer  we  learn  some  curious  particulars  relative 
to  the  state  of  ballad-singing  in  that  age,  that  will  throw  light  on 
the  present  subject :  speaking  of  the  quick  returns  of  one  manner 
of  tune  in  the  short  measures  used  by  common  rhymers  ;  these,  he 
says,  "  glut  the  eare,  unless  it  be  in  small  and  popular  musickes, 
sung  by  these  Cantabanqui,  upon  benches  and  barrels  heads, 
where  they  have  none  other  audience  then  boys  or  countrey 
fellowes,  that  passe  by  them  in  the  streete ;  or  else  by  blind 
harpei's,  or  such  like  taverne  minstrels,  that  give  a  fit  of  mirth  for 
a  groat,  .  .  their  matter  being  for  the  most  part  stories  of  old 
time,  as  the  tale  of  Sir  Topas,  the  reportes  of  Bevis  of  Southa7np- 
to?i,  Guy  of  Wa7  wicke,  Adam  Bell  and  Clymme  of  the  Clough,  and 
such  other  old  romances  or  historical  rimes,  made  purposely  for 
recreation  of  the  common  people  at  Christmasse  dinners  and 
brideales,  and  in  tavernes  and  alehouses,  and  such  other  places  of 
base  resorte."     P.  69. 

This  species  of  entertainment,  which  seems  to  have  beeik 
handed  down  from  the  ancient  bards,  was  in  the  time  of  Putten- 

[*  This  stanza  is  not  in  the  ordinary  versions. 
+  Bessie  of  Bednall,  Percy  folio  MS.,  ed.  Hales  and  Fumivall^ 
vol.  ii.  p.  279.] 


OF   BEDNALL-GREEN,  183 

ham  falling  into  neglect ;  but  that  it  was  not,  even  then,  wholly  ex- 
cluded from  more  genteel  assemblies,  he  gives  us  room  to  infer  from 
another  passage  :  "  We  ourselves,"  says  this  courtly*  writer,  "  have 
written  for  pleasure  a  little  brief  romance,  or  historical  ditty  in 
the  English  tong  of  the  Isle  of  Great  Britaine  in  short  and  long 
meetres,  and  by  breaches  or  divisions  (/.  e.  fits),  to  be  more  com- 
modiously  sung  to  the  harpe  in  places  of  assembly,  where  the  com- 
pany shal  be  desirous  to  heare  of  old  adventures,  and  valiaunces 
of  noble  knights  in  times  past,  as  are  those  of  King  Arthur  and 
his  Knights  of  the  Round  Table,  Sir  Bevys  of  Southampton,  Guy 
of  Wai'wicke,  and  others  like."     P-  33- 

In  more  ancient  times  no  grand  scene  of  festivity  was  compleat 
without  one  of  these  reciters  to  entertain  the  company  with  feats 
of  arms,  and  tales  of  knighthood,  or,  as  one  of  these  old  minstrels 
says,  in  the  beginning  of  an  ancient  romance  on  Guy  and  Col- 
bronde,  in  the  Editor's  folio  MS.  p.  349  [ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall, 
vol.  ii.,  p.  527]: 

"  When  meate  and  drinke  is  great  plenty e, 
And  lords  and  ladyes  still  wil  bee. 

And  sitt  and  solace  lythe  ;t 
Then  itt  is  time  for  mee  to  speake 
Of  keene  knightes,  and  kempes  great, 

Such  carping  for  to  kythe.""^ 

If  we  consider  that  a  groat  in  the  age  of  Elizabeth  was  more 
than  equivalent  to  a  shilling  now,  we  shall  find  that  the  old 
harpers  were  even  then,  when  their  art  was  on  the  decline,  upon  a 
far  more  reputable  footing  than  the  ballad-singers  of  our  time. 
The  reciting  of  one  such  ballad  as  this  of  the  Beggar  of  Bednai 
Green,  in  two  parts,  was  rewarded  with  half-a-crown  of  our 
money.  And  that  they  made  a  very  respectable  appearance,  we 
may  learn  from  the  dress  of  the  old  beggar,  in  the  preceding 
ballad,  p.  178,  where  he  comes  into  company  in  the  habit  and 
character  of  one  of  these  minstrels,  being  not  known  to  be  the 
bride's  father  till  after  her  speech,  ver.  63.  The  exordium  of  his 
song,  and  his  claiming  a  groat  for  his  reward,  v,  76,  are  peculiarly 
characteristic  of  that  profession.  Most  of  the  old  ballads  begin 
in  a  pompous  manner,  in  order  to  captivate  the  attention  of  the 
audience,  and  induce  them  to  purchase  a  recital  of  the  song  :  and 
they  seldom  conclude  the  first  part  without  large  promises  of  still 

*  He  was  one  of  Q.  Elizabeth's  gent,  pensioners,  at  a  time 
when  the  whole  band  consisted  of  men  of  distinguished  birth  and 
fortune.     Vid.  Ath.  Ox. 

+  Perhaps  ''  blythe." 


i84     THE    BEGGAR'S    DAUGHTER 

greater  entertainment  in  the  second.  This  was  a  necessary  piece 
of  art  to  incline  the  hearers  to  be  at  the  expense  of  a  second 
groat's-worth.  Many  of  the  old  romances  extend  to  eight  or  nine 
fits,  which  would  afford  a  considerable  profit  to  the  reciter. 

To  return  to  the  word  fit ;  it  seems  at  one  time  to  have 
peculiarly  signified  the  pause,  or  breathing-time,  between  the 
several  parts  (answering  to  Passus  in  the  Visions  of  Fie7'ce  Plow- 
niari)'.  thus  in  the  ancient  ballad  of  Chevy-Chase  (vol.  i.  p.  27),  the 
first  part  ends  with  this  line  : 

"  The  first//  here  I  fynde  : " 

/.  e.  here  I  come  to  the  first  pause  or  intermission.  (See  also  vol.  i. 
p.  44.)  By  degrees  it  came  to  signify  the  whole  part  or  division 
preceding  the  pause.  (See  vol.  i.  pp.  162,  169.)  This  sense  it 
had  obtained  so  early  as  the  time  of  Chaucer ;  who  thus  concludes 
the  first  part  of  his  rhyme  of  Sir  Thopas  (writ  in  ridicule  of  the 
old  ballad  romances)  : — 

"  Lo  !  lordis  mine,  here  is  2.fitt; 
If  ye  woll  any  more  of  it, 
To  tell  it  woll  I  fonde." 

The  word// indeed  appears  originally  to  have  signified  a  poetic 
strain,  verse,  or  poem  ;  for  in  these  senses  it  is  used  by  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  writers.  Thus  K.  Alfred  in  his  Boethitis,  having  given  a 
version  of  lib.  3,  metr.  5,  adds.  Da  ]fe  pij'bom  J)a  ])^y  pi^cte 
aj'un^en  hsejzbe,  p.  65,  /.  e.  "  When  wisdom  had  sung  these  (Fitts) 
verses."  And  in  the  proem  to  the  same  book,  Fon  on  pitite,  "  Put 
into  (fitt)  verse."  So  in  Cedmon,  p.  45.  Feonb  on  jzirre,  seems 
to  mean  "composed  a  song,"  or  "  poem."  The  reader  will  trace 
this  old  Saxon  phrase,  in  the  application  of  the  word  fon^,  in  the 
foregoing  passage  of  Chaucer. 

Spencer  has  used  the  word  fit  to  denote  "  a  strain  of  music ;  " 
see  his  poem,  intitled,  Collin  Cloufs  come  home  agaift,  where  he 
says : — 

"  The  Shepherd  of  the  ocean  [Sir  Walt.  Raleigh] 
Provoked  me  to  play  some  pleasant//. 

And  when  he  heard  the  music  which  I  made 
He  found  himself  full  greatlye  pleas'd  at  it,"  &c. 

It  is  also  used  in  the  old  ballad  of  K.  Eshnere,  vol.  i.  book  i, 
No.  6,  V.  243. 

From  being  applied  to  music,  this  word  was  easily  transferred  to 
dancing;  thus  in  the  old  play  oi  Lusty  Juvenilis  (described  in  pre- 
iminary  note  to  book  2,  No.  i  in  this  volume),  Juventus  says : 

"  By  the  mnsse  T  would  faytie  go  daunce  a  //7/<^." 


OF  BEDNALL-GREEN. 


185 


And  from  being  used  as  a  part  or  division  in  a  ballad,  poem,  &:c. 
it  is  applied  by  Bale  to  a  section  or  chapter  in  a  book  (though  I 
believe  in  a  sense  of  ridicule  or  sarcasm),  for  thus  he  intitles  two 
chapters  of  his  English  Vota?yes,  part  2nd,  viz.  fol.  49,  "  The  fyrst 
^//of  Anselme  with  Kynge  Wyllyam  Rufus;"  fol.  50,  "Another 
Jytt  of  Anselme  with  kynge  Wyllyam  Rufus." 


XL 


FANCY    AND    DESIRE. 
By  the  Earl  of  Oxford. 

DWARD  Vere,  Earl  of  Oxford,  was  in  high  fame  for 
his  poetical  talents  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth ;  perhaps 
it  is  no  injury  to  his  reputation  that  few  of  his  com- 
positions are  preserved  for  the  inspection  of  impartial 
posterity.  To  gratify  curiosity,  we  have  inserted  a  sonnet  of  his, 
which  13  quoted  with  great  encomiums  for  its  "excellencie  and 
wit,"  in  Puttenham's  Arte  of  Ejig.  Poesie*  and  found  intire  in  the 
Garland  of  Good-will.  A  few  more  of  his  sonnets  (distinguished 
by  the  initial  letters  E.  O.),  may  be  seen  in  \h^  Paradise  of  Daintie 
Devises.  One  of  these  is  intitled  The  Complaint  of  a  Lover^ 
wearijig  blacke  and  iawnie.  The  only  lines  in  it  worth  notice  are 
these : — 

*'  A  crowne  of  baies  shall  that  man  '  beare' 

Who  triumphs  over  me ; 
For  black  and  tawnie  will  I  weare, 

Which  mourning  colours  be." 

We  find  in  Hall's  Chronicle^  that  when  Q.  Catharine  of  Arragon 
dyed,  Jan.  8,  1536,  "  Queen  Anne  (Bullen)  ware  yellowe  for  the 
mourning."  And  when  this  unfortunate  princess  lost  her  head, 
May  19,  the  same  year,  ''  on  the  ascencion  day  following,  the  kyng 
for  mourning  ware  whyte.'^     Fol.  227,  228. 

Edward,  who  was  the  seventeenth  earl  of  Oxford,  of  the  family 


*  Lond.  T589,  p.  172, 


1 86  FANCY   AND    DESIRE. 

of  Vere,  succeeded  his  father  in  his  title  and  honours  in  1563,  and 
died  an  aged  man  in  1604.  See  Mr.  Walpole's  Noble  Authors. 
Athen.  Oxon,  &c. 

[Walpole  was  in  error  when  he  stated  that  Lord  Oxford  died  an 
aged  man,  for  that  nobleman  was  only  about  sixty  at  the  time  of 
his  death.  Sir  Egerton  Brydges  points  out  in  his  edition  of  the 
Paradise  of  Dainty  Devices  {British  Bibliographer^  vol.  iii.),  that 
the  earl  could  not  have  been  born  earlier  than  1540  or  1541, 
because  his  elder  half-sister  Katherine,  widow  of  Edward,  Lord 
Windsor,  died  in  January,  1599,  aged  60.  The  chief  events  of  his 
life  are  these.  In  1585  he  was  the  chief  of  those  who  embarked 
with  the  Earl  of  Leicester  for  the  relief  of  the  states  of  Holland 
and  Zealand.  In  1586  he  sat  as  Lord  Great  Chamberlain  of  Eng- 
land on  the  trial  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots.  In  1588  he  hired  and 
fitted  out  ships  at  his  own  charge  against  the  Spanish  Armada.  In 
1589  he  sat  on  the  trial  of  Philip  Howard,  Earl  of  Arundel,  and 
in  1 60 1  on  the  trials  of  the  Earls  of  Essex  and  Southampton. 
His  private  character  was  far  from  good,  and  his  honour  was  tar- 
nished by  his  dispute  with  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  He  used  his  first 
wife  (a  daughter  of  the  great  Burleigh)  cruelly,  in  revenge  for  the 
statesman's  treatment  of  his  great  friend,  Thomas,  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk. In  his  early  youth  he  travelled  in  Italy,  and  returned  from 
that  country  a  finished  coxcomb,  bringing  home  with  him  Italian 
dresses,  perfumes,  and  embroidered  gloves.  He  presented  a  pair 
of  the  latter  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  who  was  so  pleased  with  them 
that  she  was  drawn  with  them  on  her  hands.  The  earl  was  buried 
at  Hackney,  on  the  6th  of  July,  1604. 

Percy  might  have  spared  rather  more  praise  for  this  pretty  little 
poem.] 


OME  hither  shepherd's  swayne  : 
''  Sir,  what  do  you  require  ?  " 
I  praye  thee,  shewe  to  me  thy  name. 
"•  My  name  is  Fond  Desire." 

When  wert  thou  borne,  Desire  } 
''In  pompe  and  pryme  of  may." 

By  whom,  sweet  boy,  wert  thou  begot. ^ 
"  By  fond  Conceit  men  say." 


FANCY   AND    DESIRE.  187 

Tell  me,  who  was  thy  nurse  ? 

''  Fresh  Youth  in  sugred  joy."  ro 

What  was  thy  meate  and  dayly  foode  ? 

"  Sad  sighes  with  great  annoy." 

What  hadst  thou  then  to  drinke  ? 

*'  Unsavoury  lovers  teares." 
What  cradle  wert  thou  rocked  in?  15 

"In  hope  devoyde  of  feares/' 

What  lulld  thee  then  asleepe  ? 

*'  Sweete  speech,  which  likes  me  best." 
Tell  me,  where  is  thy  dwelling  place  ? 

"In  gentle  hartes  I  rest."  xo 

What  thing  doth  please  thee  most  ? 

"  To  gaze  on  beautye  stille." 
Whom  dost  thou  thinke  to  be  thy  foe  } 

"  Disdayn  of  my  good  wille." 

Doth  companye  displease  ?  «5 

"  Yes,  surelye,  many  one." 
Where  doth  Desire  delighte  to  live? 

"  He  loves  to  live  alone." 

Doth  either  tyme  or  age 

Bringe  him  unto  decaye  ?  30 

"No,  no.  Desire  both  lives  and  dyes 

Ten  thousand  times  a  daye." 

Then,  fond  Desire,  farewelle, 

Thou  art  no  mate  for  mee  ; 
I  sholde  be  lothe,  methinkes,  to  dwelle  35 

With  such  a  one  as  thee. 


1 88         SIR    ANDREW  BARTON. 

XII. 
SIR    ANDREW    BARTON. 

CANNOT  give  a  better  relation  of  the  fact  which  is 
the  subject  of  the  following  ballad,  than  in  an  extract 
from  the  late  Mr.  Guthrie's  Peerage,^  which  was  begun 
upon  a  very  elegant  plan,  but  never  finished.     Vol.  i. 

4tO.  p.   22. 

"  The  transaction  which  did  the  greatest  honour  to  the  earl  of 
Surrey t  and  his  family  at  this  time  (a.d.  15 ii),  was  their  beha- 
viour in  the  case  of  Barton,  a  Scotch  sea-officer.  This  gentleman's 
father  having  suffered  by  sea  from  the  Portuguese,  he  had  obtained 
letters  of  marque  for  his  two  sons  to  make  reprisals  upon  the  sub- 
jects of  Portugal.  It  is  extremely  probable,  that  the  court  of 
Scotland  granted  these  letters  with  no  very  honest  intention.  The 
council  board  of  England,  at  which  the  earl  of  Surrey  held  the 
chief  place,  was  daily  pestered  with  complaints  from  the  sailors 
and  merchants,  that  Barton,  who  was  called  Sir  Andrew  Barton, 
under  pretence  of  searching  for  Portuguese  goods,  interrupted  the 
English  navigation.  Henry's  situation  at  that  time  rendered  him 
backward  from  breaking  with  Scotland,  so  that  their  complaints 
were  but  coldly  received.  The  earl  of  Surrey,  however,  could  not 
smother  his  indignation,  but  gallantly  declared  at  the  council 
board,  that  while  he  had  an  estate  that  could  furnish  out  a  ship, 
or  a  son  that  was  capable  of  commanding  one,  the  narrow  seas 
should  not  be  infested. 

''  Sir  Andrew  Barton,  who  commanded  the  two  Scotch  ships, 
had  the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the  ablest  sea  officers  of  his 
time.  By  his  depredations,  he  had  amassed  great  wealth,  and  his 
ships  were  very  richly  laden.  Henry,  notwithstanding  his  situa- 
tion, could  not  refuse  the  generous  offer  made  by  the  earl  of 
Surrey.  Two  ships  were  immediately  fitted  out,  and  put  to  sea 
with  letters  of  marque,  under  his  two  sons,  Sir  Thomas  %  and  Sir 
Edward  Howard.    After  encountering  a  great  deal  of  foul  weather. 


[*  Copied  literally  from  Lord  Herbert's  (of  Cherbury)  History 
of  Henry  VIII.,  p.  it  6.] 

t  Thomas  Howard,  aftenvards  created  Duke  of  Norfolk. 

X  Called  by  old  historians  lord  Howard,  afterwards  created 
earl  of  Surrey  in  his  father^s  life-time.  He  was  father  of  the 
poetical  earl  of  Surrey. 


SIR    ANDREW   BARTON.         189 

Sir  Thomas  came  up  with  the  *  Lion,'  which  was  commanded  by- 
Sir  Andrew  Barton  in  person ;  and  Sir  Edward  came  up  with  the 
'  Union,'  Barton's  other  ship  (called  by  Hall,  the  '  Bark  of  Scot- 
land.') The  engagement  which  ensued  was  extremely  obstinate 
on  both  sides ;  but  at  last  the  fortune  of  the  Howards  prevailed. 
Sir  Andrew  was  killed  fighting  bravely,  and  encouraging  his  men 
with  his  whistle,  to  hold  out  to  the  last ;  and  the  two  Scotch  ships 
with  their  crews,  were  carried  into  the  river  Thames.     (Aug.  2, 

"This  exploit  had  the  more  merit,  as  the  two  English  com^ 
manders  were  in  a  manner  volunteers  in  the  service,  by  their 
father's  order  But  it  seems  to  have  laid  the  foundation  of  Sir 
Edward's  fortune;  for,  on  the  7th  of  April,  15 12,  the  king  con- 
stituted him  (according  to  Dugdale)  admiral  of  England, 
Wales,  &c 

"King  James  'insisted'  upon  satisfaction  for  the  death  of 
Barton,  and  capture  of  his  ship :  tho'  Henry  had  generously  dis- 
missed the  crews,  and  even  agreed  that  the  parties  accused  might 
appear  in  his  courts  of  admiralty  by  their  attornies,  to  vindicate 
themselves."  This  affair  was  in  a  great  measure  the  cause  of  the 
battle  of  Flodden,  in  which  James  IV.  lost  his  life. 

In  the  following  ballad  will  be  found  perhaps  some  few  devia- 
tions from  the  truth  of  history ;  to  atone  for  which  it  has  probably 
recorded  many  lesser  facts,  which  history  hath  not  condescended 
to  relate.  I  take  many  of  the  little  circumstances  of  the  story  to 
be  real,  because  I  find  one  of  the  most  unlikely  to  be  not  very 
remote  from  the  truth.  In  pt.  2,  v.  156,  it  is  said,  that  England 
had  before  "but  two  ships  of  war."  Now  the  "Great  Harry"  had 
been  built  only  seven  years  before,  viz.  in  1504:  which  "was 
properly  speaking  the  first  ship  in  the  English  navy.  Before  this 
period,  when  the  prince  wanted  a  fleet,  he  had  no  other  expedient 
but  hiring  ships  from  the  merchants." — Hume. 

This  ballad,  which  appears  to  have  been  written  in  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  has  received  great  improvements  from  the  Editor's  folio 
MS.  wherein  was  an  ancient  copy,  which,  though  very  incorrect, 
seemed  in  many  respects  superior  to  the  common  ballad ;  the 
latter  being  evidently  modernized  and  abridged  from  it.  The 
following  text  is,  however,  in  some  places  amended  and  improved 
by  the  latter  (chiefly  from  a  black-letter  copy  in  the  Pepys  collec- 
tion), as  also  by  conjecture. 

[There  is  little  to  be  added  to  the  above  preface,  but  those  who 
wish  to  read  the  Scottish  version  will  find  John  Lesley's  (Bishop 
of  Ross)  account  of  the  affair  {Htstorie  of  Scotland,  1436-1561), 
quoted  in  Mr.  Furnivall's  full  preface  to  the  ballad  in  the  folio  MS. 
(vol.  iii.  p.  399).     Percy  fully  explains  how  he  made  up  his  copy. 


iQO        S/J^    ANDREW  BARTON, 

There  is,  in  fact,  hardly  a  line  that  has  not  been  altered,  and  the 
notes  at  the  foot  of  the  page  give  the  reader  no  idea  of  the 
changes  that  have  been  made.  To  have  noted  all  the  differences 
would  have  loaded  the  page  unnecessarily,  and  therefore  in  con- 
sideration of  the  interest  of  the  ballad,  a  reprint  of  the  folio  copy 
has  been  added,  although  there  are  several  printed  copies.  It  is 
difficult  to  understand  what  could  have  induced  Percy  to  reject 
the  pretty  lines  : 

"  As  itt  beffell  in  Midsummer  time 
When  burds  singe  sweetlye  on  every  tree," 

for  the  incongruous  opening  of  Flora  with  her  flowers,  and 
Neptune  with  his  showers.  The  greatest  alterations  are  in  vv. 
33-40,  129-136;  part  2,  vv.  1-8,  17-64,  89-94,  113-120,  145-176.] 


The  First  Part. 

HEN  Flora  with  her  fragrant  flowers 

*  Bedeckt  the  earth  so  trim  and  gaye, 
*  And  Neptune  with  his  daintye  showers 

*  Came  to  present  the  monthe  of  Maye  ;'* 
King  Henry  e  rode  to  take  the  ay  re,  5 

Over  the  river  of  Thames  past  hee  ; 
When  eighty  merchants  of  London  came. 
And  downe  they  knelt  upon  their  knee. 

*'  O  yee  are  welcome,  rich  merchants  ; 

Good  saylors,  welcome  unto  mee."  10 

They  swore  by  the  rood,  they  were  saylors  good, 

But  rich  merchants  they  cold  not  bee  : 
"  To  France  nor  Flanders  dare  we  pass : 

Nor  Bourdeaux  voyage  dare  we  fare  ; 
And  all  for  a  rover  that  lyes  on  the  seas,  rs 

Who  robbs  us  of  our  merchant  ware." 


Ver.  15,  83.  robber,  MS. 
*  From  the  pr.  copy. 


SIR    ANDREW    BARTON.        loi 

King-  Henrye  frownd,  and  turned  him  rounde, 

And  swore  by  the  Lord,  that  was  mickle  of  might, 
**  I  thought  he  had  not  beene  in  the  world. 

Durst  have  wrought  England  such  unright."        t-o 
The  merchants  sighed,  and  said,  alas  ! 

And  thus  they  did  their  answer  frame, 
He  is  a  proud  Scott,  that  robbs  on  the  seas, 

And  Sir  Andrewe  Barton  is  his  name. 

The  king  lookt  over  his  left  shoulder,  25 

And  an  angrye  look  then  looked  hee  : 
**  Have  I  never  a  lorde  in  all  my  realme, 

Will  feitch  yond  traytor  unto  mee  ?  " 
Yea,  that  dare  I;  lord  Howard  sayes  ; 

Yea,  that  dare  I  with  heart  and  hand ;  30 

If  it  please  your  grace  to  give  me  leave, 

Myselfe  wil  be  the  only  man. 

Thou  art  but  yong ;  the  kyng  replyed  : 

Yond  Scott  hath  numbred  manye  a  yeare. 
"  Trust  me,  my  liege.  He  make  him  quail,  35 

Or  before  my  prince  I  will  never  appeare." 
Then  bowemen  and  gunners  thou  shalt  have, 

And  chuse  them  over  my  realme  so  free  ; 
Besides  good  mariners,  and  shipp-boyes, 

To  guide  the  great  shipp  on  the  sea.  40 

The  first  man,  that  lord  Howard  chose, 

Was  the  ablest  gunner  in  all  the  realm, 
Thoughe  he  was  threescore  yeeres  and  ten  : 

Good  Peter  Simon  was  his  name. 
Peter,  sais  hee,  I  must  to  the  sea,  45 

To  bring  home  a  traytor  live  or  dead : 
Before  all  others  I  have  chosen  thee  ; 

Of  a  hundred  gunners  to  be  the  head. 


Ver.  29.  lord  Charles  Howard,  MS. 


192        S/J^    ANDREW  BARTON. 

If  you,  my  lord,  have  chosen  mee 

Of  a  hundred  gunners  to  be  the  head,  j* 

Then  hang  me  up  on  your  maine-mast  tree, 

If  I  misse  my  marke  one  shilHng  bread.* 
My  lord  then  chose  a  boweman  rare. 

Whose  active  hands  had  gained  fame.  I 
In  Yorkshire  was  this  gentleman  borne,  35 

And  William  Horseley  was  his  name.  J 

Horseley,  sayd  he,  I  must  with  speede 

Go  seeke  a  traytor  on  the  sea, 
And  now  of  a  hundred  bowemen  brave 

To  be  the  head  I  have  chosen  thee.  60. 

If  you,  quoth  hee,  have  chosen  mee 

Of  a  hundred  bowemen  to  be  the  head  ; 
On  your  maine-mast  He  hanged  bee. 

If  I  miss  twelvescore  one  penny  bread.* 

With  pikes  and  gunnes,  and  bowemen  bold,  6^ 

This  noble  Howard  is  gone  to  the  sea ; 
With  a  valyant  heart  and  a  pleasant  cheare, 

Out  at  Thames  mouth  sayled  he. 
And  days  he  scant  had  sayled  three, 

Upon  the  '  voyage  '  he  tooke  in  hand,  70. 

But  there  he  mett  with  a  noble  shipp. 

And  stoutely  made  itt  stay  and  stand. 

Thou  must  tell  me,  lord  Howard  said. 

Now  who  thou  art,  and  what's  thy  name  ; 

And  shewe  me  where  thy  dwelling  is  :  ^^ 

And  whither  bound,  and  whence  thou  came. 


Ver.  70.  Journey,  MS. 

*  An  old  Eng.  word  for  breadth.  f  Pr.  copy. 

\  Mr.  Lambe,  in  his  notes  to  the  poem  on  the  Battle  of  Flodden 
Fields  contends  that  this  expert  bowman's  name  was  not  Horseley, 
but  Hustler,  of  a  family  long  seated  near  Stockton,  in  Cleve-^ 
land,  Yorkshire.     Vid.  p.  5. 


I 


S/J^    ANDREW  BARTON.         193 

My  name  Is  Henry  Hunt,  quoth  hee 

With  a  heavye  heart,  and  a  carefull  mind ; 

I  and  my  shipp  doe  both  belong 

To  the  Newcastle,  that  stands  upon  Tyne.  co 

Hast  thou  not  heard,  nowe,  Henrye  Hunt, 

As  thou  hast  sayled  by  daye  and  by  night, 
Of  a  Scottish  rover  on  the  seas  ; 

Men  call  him  sir  Andrew  Barton,  knight? 
Then  ever  he  sighed,  and  sayd  alas !  5 

With  a  grieved  mind,  and  well  away ! 
But  over-well  I  knowe  that  wight, 

I  was  his  prisoner  yesterday. 

As  I  was  sayling  uppon  the  sea, 

A  Burdeaux  voyage  for  to  fare ;  90 

To  his  hach-borde  he  clasped  me, 

And  robd  me  of  all  my  merchant  ware  : 
And  mickle  debts,  Got  wot,  I  owe, 

And  every  man  will  have  his  owne  ; 
And  I  am  nowe  to  London  bounde,  95 

Of  our  gracious  king  to  beg  a  boone. 

That  shall  not  need,  lord  Howard  sals; 

Lett  me  but  once  that  robber  see, 
For  every  penny  tane  thee  froe 

It  shall  be  doubled  shillings  three.  100 

Nowe  God  forefend,  the  merchant  said, 

That  you  shold  seek  soe  far  amisse  ! 
God  keepe  you  out  of  that  traitors  hands ! 

Full  litle  ye  wott  what  a  man  hee  is. 

Hee  is  brasse  within,  and  Steele  without,  105 

With  beames  on  his  topcastle  stronge  ; 

And  eighteen  pieces  of  ordinance 
He  carries  on  each  side  along  : 


Ver.  91.    The  MS.  has  here  Archborde,  but  in  pt.  ii.  ver.  5> 
Hachebord  ;  [=  ship  or  side  of  the  ship.] 
2  O 


194         SIR    ANDREW   BARTON. 

And  he  hath  a  pinnace  deerlye  dight/ 

St.  Andrewes  crosse  that  is  his  guide  ;  i  .o 

His  pinnace  beareth  ninescore  men, 

And  fifteen  canons  on  each  side. 

Were  ye  twentye  shippes,  and  he  but  one  ; 

I  sweare  by  kirke,  and  bower,  and  hall  ; 
He  wold  overcome  them  everye  one,  i  •  s 

If  once  his  beames  they  doe  downe  fall.* 
This  is  cold  comfort,  sais  my  lord, 

To  wellcome  a  strano^er  thus  to  the  sea: 
Yet  He  bring  him  and  his  shipp  to  shore, 

Or  to  Scottland  hee  shall  carrye  mee.  i:j 

Then  a  noble  gunner  you  must  have. 

And  he  must  aim  well  with  his  ee, 
And  sinke  his  pinnace  into  the  sea, 

Or  else  hee  never  orecome  will  bee : 
And  if  you  chance  his  shipp  to  borde,  I'-s 

This  counsel  I  must  give  withall. 
Let  no  man  to  his  topcastle  goe 

To  strive  to  let  his  beams  downe  fall. 

And  seven  pieces  of  ordinance, 

I  pray  your  honour  lend  to  mee,  130 

On  each  side  of  my  shipp  along, 

And  I  will  lead  you  on  the  sea. 

*  It  should  seem  from  hence,  that  before  our  marine  aitillery 
was  brought  to  its  present  perfection,  some  naval  commanders 
had  recourse  to  instruments  or  machines,  similar  in  use,  though 
perhaps  unlike  in  construction,  to  the  heavy  dolphins  made  of 
lead  or  iron  used  by  the  ancient  Greeks ;  which  they  suspended 
from  beams  or  yards  fastened  to  the  masts,  and  which  they  pre- 
cipitately let  fall  on  the  enemies  ships,  in  order  to  sink  them,  by 
beating  holes  through  the  bottoms  of  their  undecked  triremes,  or 
otherwise  damaging  them.  These  are  mentioned  by  Thucydides, 
lib.  vii.  p.  256,  ed.  1564,  folio,  and  are  more  fully  explained  in 
Schejferi  de  Militia  JSlavali,  lib.  ii.  cap.  v.  p.  136,  ed.  1653,  4to. 

N.U.  It  everywhere  in  the  MS.  seems  to  be  written  "  beanes." 

[1  richly  fitted  out.] 


SIR    ANDREW   BARTON.         195 

A  glasse  He  sett,  that  may  be  seene, 

\Vhether  you  sayle  by  day  or  night , 
And  to-morrowe,  I  sweare,  by  nine  of  the  clocke   135 

You  shall  meet  with  Sir  Andrewe  Barton  knight. 


The  Second  Part. 

HE  merchant  sett  my  lorde  a  glasse 
Soe  well  apparent  in  his  sight, 


J^^^5([  And  on  the  morrowe,  by  nme  of  the  clocke, 
He  shewed  him  Sir  Andrewe  Barton  knight. 

His  hachebord  it  was  *  gilt '  with  gold, 
Soe  deerlye  dight  it  dazzled  the  ee  : 

Nowe  by  my  faith,  lord  Howarde  sais, 
This  is  a  gallant  sight  to  see. 

Take  in  your  ancyents,^  standards  eke, 

So  close  that  no  man  may  them  see ; 
And  put  me  forth  a  white  willowe  wand, 

As  merchants  use  to  sayle  the  sea. 
But  they  stirred  neither  top,  nor  mast ;  * 

Stoutly  they  past  Sir  Andrew  by. 
What  English  churles  are  yonder,  he  sayd. 

That  can  soe  litle  curtesye? 

Now  by  the  roode,  three  yeares  and  more 

I  have  beene  admirall  over  the  sea ; 
And  never  an  English  nor  Portingall 

Without  my  leave  can  passe  this  way. 
Then  called  he  forth  his  stout  pinnace  ; 

''  Fetch  backe  yond  pedlars  nowe  to  mee : 
I  sweare  by  the  masse,  yon  English  churles 

Shall  all  hang  att  my  maine-mast  tree." 

Ver.  5.  "hached  with  gold,"  MS.  *  i.e.  did  not  salute. 

[1  flags.] 


196         SIR    ANDREW  BARTON. 

With  that  the  pinnace  itt  shott  off,  i^ 

Full  well  lord  Howard  might  it  ken  ; 
For  itt  stroke  down  my  lord's  fore  mast, 

And  killed  fourteen  of  his  men. 
Come  hither,  Simon,  sayes  my  lord, 

Looke  that  thy  word  be  true,  thou  said  ;  "    30 

For  at  my  maine-mast  thou  shalt  hang, 

If  thou  misse  thy  marke  one  shilling  bread. 

Simon  was  old,  but  his  heart  itt  was  bold. 

His  ordinance  he  laid  right  lowe ; 
He  put  in  chaine  full  nine  yardes  long,  35 

With  other  great  shott  lesse,  and  moe  ; 
And  he  lette  goe  his  great  gunnes  shott ; 

Soe  well  he  settled  itt  with  his  ee. 
The  first  sight  that  Sir  Andrew  sawe. 

He  see  his  pinnace  sunke  in  the  sea.  ^.o- 

And  when  he  saw  his  pinnace  sunke, 

Lord,  how  his  heart  with  rage  did  swell ! 
"  Nowe  cutt  my  ropes,  itt  is  time  to  be  gon ; 

He  fetch  yond  pedlars  backe  mysell." 
When  my  Lord  sawe  Sir  Andrewe  loose,  45 

Within  his  heart  hee  was  full  faine  : 
*'  Nowe  spread  your  ancyents,  strike  up  drummes, 

Sound  all  your  trumpetts  out  amaine." 

Fight  on,  my  men,  Sir  Andrewe  sais, 

Weale  howsoever  this  geere  will  sway ;  50' 

Itt  is  my  lord  admirall  of  England, 

Is  come  to  seeke  mee  on  the  sea. 
Simon  had  a  sonne,  who  shott  right  well, 

That  did  Sir  Andrewe  mickle  scare ; 
In  att  his  decke  he  gave  a  shott,  55 

Killed  threescore  of  his  men  of  warre. 


Ver.  35.  i.e.  discharged  chain-shot. 


S/J^    ANDREW  BARTON,         197 

Then  Henrye  Hunt  with  rigour  hott 

Came  bravely  on  the  other  side, 
Soone  he  drove  downe  his  fore-mast  tree, 

And  killed  fourscore  men  beside.  60 

Nowe,  out  alas  !  Sir  Andrewe  cryed, 

What  may  a  man  now  thinke,  or  say  ? 
Yonder  merchant  theefe,  that  pierceth  mee, 

He  was  my  prisoner  yesterday. 

Come  hither  to  me,  thou  Gordon  good,  65 

That  aye  wast  readye  att  my  call ; 
I  will  give  thee  three  hundred  markes. 

If  thou  wilt  let  my  beames  downe  fall. 
Lord  Howard  hee  then  calld  in  haste, 

*'  Horseley  see  thou  be  true  in  stead  ;  70 

For  thou  shalt  at  the  maine-mast  hang. 

If  thou  misse  twelvescore  one  penny  bread.'* 

Then  Gordon  swarved^  the  maine-mast  tree, 

He  swarved  it  with  might  and  maine  ; 
But  Horseley  with  a  bearing  arrowe,  75 

Stroke  the  Gordon  through  the  braine ; 
And  he  fell  unto  the  haches  again. 

And  sore  his  deadlye  wounde  did  bleed  : 
Then  word  went  through  Sir  Andrews  men, 

How  that  the  Gordon  hee  was  dead.  «o 

Come  hither  to  mee,  James  Hambilton, 

Thou  art  my  only  sisters  sonne. 
If  thou  wilt  let  my  beames  downe  fall, 

Six  hundred  nobles  thou  hast  wonne. 
With  that  he  swarved  the  maine-mast  tree,  85 

He  swarved  it  with  nimble  art ; 
But  Horseley  with  a  broad  arrowe 

Pierced  the  Hambilton  through  the  heart : 

Ver.  67.  84  pounds,  MS.     V.  75.  bearinge,  sc.  that  carries  well, 

[*  climbed.] 


iqS         6/7?    ANDREW   BARTON. 

And  clowne  he  fell  upon  the  deck, 

That  with  his  blood  did  streame  amaine  :  90 

Then  every  Scott  cryed,  Well-away  ! 

Alas  a  comelye  youth  is  slaine  ! 
All  woe  begone  was  Sir  Andrew  then, 

With  griefe  and  rage  his  heart  did  swell : 
"  Go  fetch  me  forth  my  armour  of  proofe,  9^ 

For  I  will  to  the  topcastle  mysell. 

*'  Goe  fetch  me  forth  my  armour  of  proofe ; 

That  gilded  is  with  gold  soe  cleare : 
God  be  with  my  brother  John  of  Barton  ! 

Against  the  Portingalls  hee  it  ware  ;  100 

And  when  he  had  on  this  armour  of  proofe. 

He  was  a  gallant  sight  to  see  : 
Ah!  nere  didst  thou  meet  with  living  wight, 

My  deere  brother,  could  cope  with  thee." 

Come  hither  Horseley,  sayes  my  lord,  105 

And  looke  your  shaft  that  itt  goe  right, 
Shoot  a  good  shoote  in  time  of  need, 

And  for  it  thou  shalt  be  made  a  knight. 
He  shoot  my  best,  quoth  Horseley  then, 

Your  honour  shall  see,  with  might  and  maine  ;  no 
But  if  I  were  hanged  at  your  maine-mast, 

I  have  now  left  but  arrowes  twaine. 

Sir  Andrew  he  did  swarve  the  tree. 

With  right  good  will  he  swarved  then  : 
Upon  his  breast  did  Horseley  hitt,  115 

But  the  arrow  bounded  back  agen. 
Then  Horseley  spyed  a  privye  place 

With  a  perfect  eye  in  a  secrette  part ; 
Under  the  spole^  of  his  right  arme 

He  smote  Sir  Andrew  to  the  heart.  120 


[*  shoulder.] 


f 


SIJ^    ANDREW   BARTON,         199 

"  Fight  on,  my  men,  Sir  Andrew  sayes, 

A  little  I  me  hurt,  but  yett  not  slaine  ; 
He  but  lye  downe  and  bleede  a  while, 

And  then  He  rise  and  fight  againe. 
Fight  on,  my  men.  Sir  Andrew  sayes,  115 

And  never  fiinche  before  the  foe  ; 
And  stand  fast  by  St.  Andrewes  crosse 

Untill  you  heare  my  whistle  blowe."* 

They  never  heard  his  whistle  blow, 

Which  made  their  hearts  waxe  sore  adread  :  130 
Then  Horseley  sayd,  Aboard,  my  lord. 

For  well  I  wott  Sir  Andrew's  dead. 
They  boarded  then  his  noble  shipp, 

They  boarded  it  with  might  and  maine  ; 
Eighteen  score  Scots  alive  they  found,  \.s 

The  rest  were  either  maimed  or  slaine. 

Lord  Howard  tooke  a  sword  in  hand, 

And  off  he  smote  Sir  Andrewes  head  ; 
'*  I  must  have  left  England  many  a  daye, 

If  thou  wert  alive  as  thou  art  dead."  \\o 

He  caused  his  body  to  be  cast 

Over  the  hatchbord  into  the  sea, 
And  about  his  middle  three  hundred  crowncs  : 

"  Wherever  thou  land  this  will  bury  thee." 

Thus  from  the  warres  lord  Howard  came,  145 

And  backe  he  sayled  ore  the  maine, 
With  mickle  joy  and  triumphing 

Into  Thames  mouth  he  came  againe. 
Lord  Howard  then  a  letter  wrote. 

And  sealed  it  with  seale  and  ring ;  150 

"  Such  a  noble  prize  have  I  brought  to  your  grace, 

As  never  did  subject  to  a  king. 

[*  For  a  reference  to  whistles  used  by  naval  commanders,  see 
Statute  of  apparel,  24  Hen.  VIII.  c.  13  (Anstis's  Order  of  fhe 
Garter,  vol.  ii.  d.  i2t.)] 


200        SIR    ANDREW   BARTON, 

''Sir  Andrewes  shipp  I  bring  with  mee  ; 

A  braver  shipp  was  never  none  * 
Nowe  hath  your  grace  two  shipps  of  warr,  155 

Before  in  England  was  but  one." 
King  Henryes  grace  with  royall  cheere 

Welcomed  the  noble  Howard  home,     ' 
And  where,  said  he,  is  this  rover  stout, 

That  I  myselfe  may  give  the  doome  ?  160 

*'  The  rover,  he  is  safe,  my  leige, 

Full  many  a  fadom  in  the  sea ; 
If  he  were  alive  as  he  is  dead, 

I  must  have  left  England  many  a  day : 
And  your  grace  may  thank  four  men  i'  the  ship     165 

For  the  victory  wee  have  wonne. 
These  are  William  Horseley,  Henry  Hunt, 

And  Peter  Simon,  and  his  sonne." 

To  Henry  Hunt,  the  king  then  sayd, 

In  lieu  of  what  was  from  thee  tane.  170 

A  noble  a  day  now  thou  shalt  have, 

Sir  Andrewes  jewels  and  his  chayne. 
And  Horseley  thou  shalt  be  a  knight, 

And  lands  and  livings  shalt  have  store  ; 
Howard  shall  be  erle  Surry e  hight,  175 

As  Howards  erst  have  beene  before. 

Nowe,  Peter  Simon,  thou  art  old, 

I  will  maintaine  thee  and  thy  scnne  : 
And  the  men  shall  have  five  hundred  markes 

For  the  good  service  they  have  done.  i>o 

Then  in  came  the  queene  with  ladyes  fair 

To  see  Sir  Andrewe  Barton  knight : 
They  weend  that  hee  were  brought  on  shore, 

And  thought  to  have  seen  a  gallant  sight. 


Ver.    175,  6.    .    .    Krle  of  Nottingham,   And   soe  was  never, 
&c.,  MS. 


tf:J 


>  ■;/ 


S/J^    ANDREW   BARTON,        201 

But  when  they  see  his  deadlye  face,  1S5 

And  eyes  soe  hollow  in  his  head, 
I  wold  give,  quoth  the  king,  a  thousand  markes, 

This  man  were  alive  as  hee  is  dead  : 
Yett  for  the  manful  1  part  hee  playd, 

Which  fought  soe  well  with  heart  and  hand,        170 
His  men  shall  have  twelvepence  a  day, 

Till  they  come  to  my  brother  kings  high  land. 

-4^  *** 

C^S^^'HE  follo\ving  version  is  reprinted  from  Hales  and  Fur- 
|M^^  nivall's  edition  of  the  folio  MS.,  vol.  iii.  p.  403  : — 

As  :  itt  beffell  in  M[i]dsumer  time 

when  burds  singe  sweetlye  on  euery  tree, 
our  noble  King,  King  Henery  the  8*'^, 

ouer  the  riuer  of  Thames  past  hee.  4 

hee  was  no  sooner  ouer  the  riuer, 

downe  in  a  fforrest  to  take  the  ayre, 
but  80  merchants  of  London  cittye 

came  kneeling  before  King  Henery  there :  8 

"  O  yee  are  welcome,  rich  merchants, 

[Good  saylors,  welcome  unto  me  ! "] 
they  swore  by  the  rood  the  were  saylers  good, 

but  rich  merchants  they  cold  not  bee  ;  \% 

^*  to  ffrance  nor  fflanders  dare  we  nott  passe, 

nor  Burdeaux  voyage  wee  dare  not  flare, 
&  all  ffor  a  ffalse  robber  that  lyes  on  the  seas, 

&  robb  vs  of  our  merchants  ware."  » f^ 

King  Henery  was  stout,  &  he  turned  him  about, 

&  swore  by  the  Lord  that  was  mickle  of  might, 
"  I  thought  he  had  not  beene  in  the  world  throughout, 

that  durst  haue  wrought  England  such  vnright."  20 

but  euer  they  sighed,  and  said — alas  ! — 

vnto  King  Harry  this  answere  againe 
"  he  is  a  proud  Scott  that  will  robb  vs  all 

if  wee  were  20  shipps  and  hee  but  one."  ^^ 

The  King  looket  ouer  his  left  shoulder, 

amongst  his  Lords  &  Barrons  soe  ffree : 
"  haue  I  neuer  Lord  in  all  my  realme 

will  ffeitch  yond  traitor  vnto  mee?"  a8 


202         S7J^    ANDREW  BARTON. 

**yes,  that  dare  I  !"  sayes  my  Lord  Cbareles  Howard, 

neere  to  the  King  wheras  hee  did  stand; 
"  If  that  your  grace  will  giue  me  leaue, 

my  selfe  wilbe  the  only  man."  32 

•'thou  shalt  haue  600  men/'  saith  our  King, 

"  &  chiise  them  out  of  my  realme  soe  ffree  ; 
besids  Marriners  and  boyes, 

to  guide  the  great  shipp  on  the  sea."  36 

*'Ile  goe  speake  with  Sir  Andrew,"  sais  Charles,  my  Lord  H award; 

"  vpon  the  sea,  if  hee  be  there, 
I  will  bring  him  &  his  shipp  to  shore, 

or  before  my  prince  I  will  neuer  come  ncere."  4c 

the  ffirst  of  all  my  Lord  did  call, 

a  noble  gunner  hee  was  one  ; 
this  man  was  60  yeeres  and  ten, 

&  Peeter  Simon  was  his  name.  4* 

"  Peeter,"  sais  hee,  "  I  must  sayle  to  the  sea 

to  seeke  out  an  enemye  ;  god  be  my  speed  ! 
before  all  others  I  haue  chosen  thee ; 

of  a  100*^.  guners  thoust  be  my  head."  48 

"  my  Lord,"  sais  hee,  "  if  you  haue  chosen  mee 

of  a  loo'^.  gunners  to  be  the  head, 
hange  me  att  your  maine-mast  tree 

if  I  misse  my  marke  past  3  pence  bread."  52 

The  next  of  all  my  Lord  he  did  call, 

a  noble  bowman  hee  was  one  ; 
In  yorekeshire  was  this  gentleman  borne, 

&  william  Horsley  was  his  name.  56 

"  Horsley,"  sayes  hee,  "  I  must  sayle  to  the  sea 

to  seeke  out  an  enemye  ;  god  be  my  speede  ! 
before  all  others  I  haue  chosen  thee  ; 

of  a  100  bowemen  thoust  be  my  head."  60 

"  My  Lord,"  sais  hee,  "  if  you  haue  chosen  mee 

of  a  100''.  bowemen  to  be  they  head, 
hang  me  att  your  mainemast  tree 

if  I  misse  my  marke  past  12'*.  bread."  64 

with  pikes,  and  gunnes,  &  bowemen  bold, 

this  Noble  Howard  is  gone  to  the  sea 
on  the  day  before  Midsummer  euen, 

&  out  att  Thames  mouth  sayled  they.  68 

They  had  not  sayled  dayes  3 

vpon  their  lourney  they  tooke  in  hand, 
but  there  they  mett  with  a  Noble  shipp, 

&  stoutely  made  itt  both  stay  &  stand.  ^% 


S/J^   ANDREW  BARTON,        203 

*'  thou  must  tell  me  thy  name,"  sais  Charles,  my  Lord  Haward, 

*'  or  who  thou  art,  or  ffrom  whence  thou  came, 
yea,  &  where  thy  dwelling  is, 

to  whom  &  where  thy  shipp  does  belong."  76 

"  My  name,"  sayes  hee,  "  is  Henery  Hunt, 

with  a  pure  hart  &  a  penitent  mind ; 
I  and  my  shipp  they  doe  belong 

vnto  the  New  castle  that  stands  vpon  tine."  80 

"  Now  thou  must  tell  me,  Harry  Hunt, 

as  thou  hast  sayled  by  day  &  by  night, 
hast  thou  not  heard  of  a  stout  robber  ? 

men  calls  him  Sir  Andrew  Eartton,  Knight."  84 

but  ener  he  sighed,  &  sayd,  "  alas  ! 

ffull  well,  my  Lord,  I  know  that  wight ! 
he  robd  me  of  my  merchants  ware, 

&  I  was  his  prisoner  but  yesternight.  88 

"  as  I  was  sayling  vppon  the  sea, 

&  Burdeaux  voyage  as  I  did  ffare, 
he  Clasped  me  to  his  Archborde 

&  robd  me  of  all  my  merchants  ware ;  92 

&  I  am  a  man  both  poore  &  bare, 

&  euery  man  will  haue  his  owne  of  me, 
&  1  am  bound  towards  London  to  ffare, 

to  complaine  to  my  Prince  Henerye."  96 

*'  that  shall  not  need,"  sais  my  Lord  Haward  ; 

"  if  thou  canst  lett  me  this  robber  see, 
ffor  euery  peny  he  hath  taken  thee  fiVoe, 

thou  shalt  be  rewarded  a  shilling,"  quoth  hee.  100 

"  Now  god  ffore-fend,"  sales  Henery  Hunt, 

"  my  Lord,  you  shold  worke  soe  ffarr  amisse  ! 
god  keepe  you  out  of  that  Traitors  hands  ! 

for  you  wott  ffull  litle  what  a  man  hee  is.  104 

"  hee  is  brasse  within,  &  Steele  without, 

&  beanes  hee  beares  in  his  Topcastle  stronge ; 
his  shipp  hath  ordinance  cleane  round  about ; 

besids,  my  Lord,  hee  is  verry  well  mand  3  108 

he  hath  a  pinnace  is  deerlye  dight, 

Saint  Andrews  crosse,  that  is  his  guide ; 
his  pinnace  beares  9  score  men  &  more, 

besids  15  cannons  on  euery  side.  112 

"if  you  were  20  shippes,  &  he  but  one, 

either  in  charke-bord  or  in  hall, 
he  v/old  ouercome  you  euerye  one, 

&  if  his  beanes  they  doe  downe  ffall."  116 


204         S/J^    ANDREW   BARTON. 

"  this  is  cold  comfort,"  sais  my  Lord  Haward, 

"  to  Wellcome  a  stranger  thus  to  the  sea  \ 
He  bring  him  &  his  shipp  to  shore, 

or  else  into  Scottland  hee  shall  carrye  mee."  1 20 

"  then  you  must  gett  a  noble  gunner,  my  Lord, 

that  can  sett  well  with  his  eye 
&  sinke  his  pinnace  into  the  sea, 

&  soone  then  ouercome  will  hee  bee  124 

&  when  that  you  haue  done  this, 

if  you  chance  Sir  Andrew  for  to  bord, 
lett  no  man  to  his  Topcastle  goe  ; 

&  I  will  giue  you  a  glasse,  my  Lord,  128 

"  &  then  you  need  to  fferae  no  Scott, 

whether  you  sayle  by  day  or  by  night ; 
&  to-morrow  by  7  of  the  clocke, 

you  shah  meete  with  Sir  Andrew  Bartton,  Knight.  13a 

I  was  his  prisoner  but  yester  night, 

&  he  hath  taken  mee  sworne;"  quoth  hee, 
"  I  trust  my  L[ord]  god  will  me  fforgiue 

&  if  that  oath  then  broken  bee.  136 

"  you  must  lend  me  sixe  peeces,  my  Lord,"  quoth  hee, 

"into  my  shipp  to  sayle  the  sea, 
&  to-morrow  by  9  of  the  clocke  | 

your  honour  againe  then  will  I  see."  :4o  | 

And  the  hache-bord  where  Sir  Andrew  Lay,  'A 

is  hached  with  gold  deerlye  dight:  ;,, 

"now  by  my  ffaith,"  sais  Charles,  my  Lord  Haward, 

"  then  yonder  Scott  is  a  vvorthye  wight  !"  144 

/  Take  in  your  ancyents  &  your  standards, 
d        .    /      yea  that  no  man  shall  them  see, 
'  "         j  &  put  me  fforth  a  white  willow  wand, 

I      as  Merchants  vse  to  sayle  the  sea.  148 

But  they  stirred  neither  top  nor  mast, 

but  Sir  Andrew  they  passed  by. 
"  whatt  English  are  yonder,"  said  Sir  Andrew, 

"  that  can  so  litle  curtesye  ?  '5* 

'*  I  haue  beene  Admirall  ouer  the  sea 

more  then  these  yeeres  three ; 
there  is  neuer  an  English  dog,  nor  Portingall, 

can  passe  this  way  without  leaue  of  mee.  1  s6 

But  now  yonder  pedlers,  they  are  past, 

which  is  no  litle  greffe  to  me  : 
fieich  them  backe,"  sayes  Sir  Andrew  Bartton, 

"  they  shall  all  hang  att  my  maine-mast  tree."  60 


I 


S/R    ANDREW   BARTON,         205 

with  that  they  pinnace  itt  shott  of, 

that  my  Lord  Haward  might  itt  well  ken, 
itt  strokes  downe  my  Lords  fforemast, 

&  killed  14  of  my  Lord  his  men.  164 

"  come  hither,  Simon  !"  sayes  my  Lord  Haward, 

**  looke  that  thy  words  be  true  thou  sayd ; 
He  hang  thee  att  my  maine-mast  tree 

if  thou  misse  thy  marke  past  12**.  bread."  168 

Simon  was  old,  but  his  hart  itt  was  bold, 

hee  tooke  downe  a  peece,  &  layd  itt  ffull  lowe ; 
he  put  in  chain e  yeards  9, 

besids  other  great  shott  lesse  and  more.  172 

with  that  hee  lett  his  gun  shott  goe  ; 

soe  well  hee  settled  itt  with  his  eye, 
the  ffirst  sight  that  Sir  Andrew  sawe, 

hee  see  his  pinnace  sunke  in  the  sea.  176 

when  hee  saw  his  pinace  sunke, 

Lord  !  in  his  hart  hee  was  not  well : 
'*  cutt  my  ropes  !  itt  is  time  to  be  gon  ! 

He  goe  ffeitch  yond  pedlers  backe  my  selfe !"  180 

when  my  Lord  Haward  saw  Sir  Andrew  loose, 

lord  !  in  his  hart  that  hee  was  ffaine  : 
*^  strike  on  your  drummes,  spread  out  your  ancyents  I 

sound  out  your  trumpetts  !  sound  out  amaine  ! "  184 

''ffight  on,  my  men  !"  sais  Sir  Andrew  Bartton; 

'*  weate,  howsoeuer  this  geere  will  sway, 
itt  is  my  Lord  Adm[i]rall  of  England 

is  come  to  seeke  mee  on  the  sea."  1%% 

Simon  had  a  sonne,  with  shott  of  a  gunn, — 

well  Sir  Andrew  might  itt  Ken, — ■ 
he  shott  itt  in  att  a  priuye  place, 

&  killed  60  more  of  Sir  Andrews  men.  19* 

Harry  Hunt  came  in  att  the  other  syde, 

&  att  Sir  Andrew  hee  shott  then, 
he  drone  downe  his  fformost  tree, 

&  killed  80  more  of  Sir  Andirwes  men.  196 

**  I  haue  done  a  good  turne,"  sayes  Harry  Hunt, 

"Sir  Andrew  is  not  our  Kings  ffreind  ; 
he  hoped  to  haue  vndone  me  yesternight, 

but  I  hope  I  haue  quitt  him  well  in  the  end."  aco 

*'  Euer  alas ! "  sayd  Sir  Andrew  Barton, 

"  what  shold  a  man  either  thinke  or  say? 
yonder  ffalse  theeffe  is  my  strongest  Enemye, 

who  was  my  prisoner  but  yesterday.  ao4 


2o6         SIR    ANDREW    'RARTON. 

come  hither  to  me,  thou  Gourden  good, 

&  be  thou  ready e  att  my  call, 
&  I  will  giue  thee  300''. 

if  til  on  wilt  lett  my  beanes  downe  ffall."  208 

with  that  hee  swarned  the  maine-mast  tree, 

soe  did  he  itt  with  might  and  maine  : 
Horseley  with  a  bearing  arrow 

stroke  the  Gourden  through  the  braine,  ai2 

And  he  ffell  into  the  haches  againe, 

&  sore  of  this  wound  that  he  did  bleed, 
then  word  went  throug  Sir  Andrews  men, 

that  they  Gourden  hee  was  dead.  ai6 

**  come  hither  to  me,  lames  Hambliton, — 

thou  art  my  sisters  sonne,  I  haue  no  more, — 
I  will  giue  [thee]  600". 

If  thou  will  lett  my  beanes  downe  fFall."  220 

with  that  hee  swarned  the  maine-mast  tree, 

soe  did  hee  itt  with  might  and  maine : 
Horseley  with  an-other  broad  Arrow 

strake  the  yeamari  through  the  braine,  ^24 

that  hee  ffell  downe  to  the  haches  againe : 

sore  of  his  wound  that  hee  did  bleed, 
itt  is  verry  true,  as  the  wclchman  sayd, 

couetousness  getts  no  gaine.  228 

but  when  hee  saw  his  sisters  sonne  slaine, 

Lord  !  in  his  heart  hee  was  not  well. 
"  goe  ffeitch  me  downe  my  armour  of  proue, 

ffor  I  will  to  the  topcastle  my-selfe.  237 

goe  ffeitch  me  downe  my  armour  of  prooffe, 

for  itt  is  guilded  with  gold  soe  cleere. 
god  be  with  my  brother,  lohn  of  Bartton  ! 

amongst  the  Portingalls  hee  did  itt  weare."  »i*j 

but  when  hee  had  his  armour  of  prooffe, 

&  on  his  body  hee  had  itt  on, 
euery  man  that  looked  att  him 

sayd,  "  gunn  nor  arrow  hee  neede  feare  none  ! "  » j. > 

"  come  hither,  Horsley !"  sayes  my  Lord  Plaward, 

*'  &  looke  your  shaft  that  itt  goe  right ; 
shoot  a  good  shoote  in  the  time  of  need, 

&  ffor  thy  shooting  thoust  be  made  a  Knight."  244 

"  He  doe  my  best,"  sayes  Horslay  then, 

"  your  honor  shall  see  beffore  I  goe  ; 
if  I  shold  be  hanged  att  your  mainemast, 

I  haue  in  my  shipp  but  arrowes  tow."  24.8 


i 


5//e    ANDREW  BARTON,         207 

but  att  Sir  Andrew  liee  bhott  then  ; 

hee  made  sure  to  hitt  his  marke  ; 
vnder  the  spole  of  his  right  arme 

hee  smote  Sir  Andrew  quite  throw  the  hart.  af* 

yett  ftrom  the  tree  hee  wold  not  start, 

but  hee  dinged  to  itt  with  might  &  maine. 
vnder  the  coUer  then  of  his  lacke, 

he  stroke  Sir  Andrew  thorrow  the  braine.  256 

**  ihght  on  my  men,"  sayes  Sir  Andrew  Bartton, 

"  I  am  hurt,  but  I  am  not  slaine ; 
lie  lay  mee  downe  &  bleed  a-while, 

&  then  He  rise  &  ffight  againe.  a6o 

ffight  on  my  men,"  sayes  Sir  Andrew  Bartton, 

"  these  English  doggs  they  bite  soe  lowe  ; 
ffight  on  ffor  Scottland  &  Saint  Andrew 

till  you  heare  my  whistle  blowe  !"  264 

but  when  the  cold  not  heare  his  whistle  blow, 

sayes  Harry  Hunt,  "  He  lay  my  head 
you  may  bord  yonder  noble  shipp,  my  Lord, 

for  I  know  Sir  Andrew  hee  is  dead."  268 

with  that  they  horded  this  noble  shipp, 

soe  did  they  itt  with  might  &  maine ; 
the  ffound  18  score  Scotts  aliue, 

besids  the  rest  were  maimed  &  slaine.  ayz 

]\Iy  Lord  Haward  tooke  a  sword  in  his  hand, 

&  smote  of  Sir  Andrews  head, 
the  Scotts  stood  by,  did  weepe  &  mourne, 

but  neuer  a  word  durst  speake  or  say.  276 

he  caused  his  body  to  be  taken  downe, 

&  ouer  the  hatch-bord  cast  into  the  sea, 
&  about  his  middle  300  crownes  : 

"  wheresoeuer  thou  lands,  itt  will  bury  thee."  280 

with  his  head  they  sayled  into  England  againe 

with  right  good  will  &  fforce  &  meanye, 
&  the  day  beffore  New  yeeres  euen 

&  into  Thames  mouth  againe  they  came.  284 

My  Lord  Haward  wrote  to  King  Heneryes  grace, 

with  all  the  newes  hee  cold  him  bring : 
"  such  a  new  yeeres  gitl't  I  haue  brought  to  your  gr[ace], 

As  neuer  did  subiect  to  any  King.  283 

"ffor  Merchandyes  and  Manhood, 

the  like  is  nott  to  be  ffound ; 
the  sight  of  these  wold  doe  you  good, 

ffor  you  haue  not  the  Like  in  your  English  ground."  202 


2o8         S/R    ANDREW  BARTON, 

but  when  hee  heard  tell  that  they  were  come, 

full  royally  hee  welcomed  them  home : 
Sir  Andre^vs  shipp  was  the  Kings  New  yeeres  guifft ; 

A  brauer  shipp  you  neuer  saw  none.  %\^ 

Now  hath  our  King  Sir  Andrews  shipp 

besett  with  pearles  and  precyous  stones ; 
Now  hath  England  2  shipps  of  warr, 

2  shipps  of  warr,  before  but  one.  300 

"who  holpe  to  this?"  sayes  King  Hener3^e, 

"  that  I  may  reward  him  ffor  his  paine," 
"  Harry  Hunt  and  Peeter  Simon, 

William  Horseleay,  &  I  the  same."  304 

*'  Harry  Hunt  shall  haue  his  whistle  &  <  haine, 

&  all  his  lewells,  whatsoeuer  they  betr, 
&  other  rich  giffts  that  I  will  not  name, 

for  his  good  service  he  hath  done  mee.  308 

Horslay,  right  thoust  be  a  Knight ; 

Lands  and  liuings  thou  shalt  haue  store. 
Howard  shalbe  Erie  of  Nottingham, 

&  soe  was  neuer  Haward  before.  ,  31a 

"  Now  Peeter  Simon,  thou  art  old, 

I  will  maintaine  thee  &  thy  sonne, 
:.iiou  shalt  haue  500''.  all  in  gold 

ffor  the  good  service  that  thou  hast  done.'*  316 

then  King  Henerye  shiffted  his  roome ; 

in  came  the  Queene  &  ladyes  bright ; 
other  arrands  they  had  none 

but  to  see  Sir  Andrew  Bartton,  Knight.  gao 

but  when  they  see  his  deadly  fface, 

his  eyes  were  hollow  in  his  head, 
"I  wold  giue  a  100"."  sais  King  Henerye, 

*'  the  man  were  aliue  as  hee  is  dead  !  324 

yett  ffor  the  manfull  part  that  hee  hath  playd 

both  heere  &  beyond  the  sea 
his  men  shall  haue  halfe  a  crowne  a  day 

to  bring  them  to  my  brother  King  lamye."  ^tS 

ffinis.] 


LAW  ANNE    BOTHWELL,      209 

XIII. 

LADY   ANNE    BOTHWELUS   LAMENT. 

A  Scottish  Song. 

^HE  subject  of  this  pathetic  ballad  the  Editor  once 
thought  might  possibly  relate  to  the  Earl  of  Bothwell, 
Jf^  and  his  desertion  of  his  wife  Lady  Jean  Gordon,  to 
make  room  for  his  marriage  with  the  Queen  of  Scots. 
But  this  opinion  he  now  believes  to  be  groundless  ;  indeed  Earl 
Bothwell's  age,  who  was  upwards  of  60  at  the  time  of  that  mar- 
riage, renders  it  unlikely  that  he  should  be  the  object  of  so  warm 
a  passion  as  this  elegy  supposes.  He  has  been  since  informed, 
that  it  entirely  refers  to  a  private  story :  A  young  lady  of  the  name 
of  Bothwell,  or  rather  Boswell,  having  been,  together  with  her  child, 
deserted  by  her  husband  or  lover,  composed  these  affecting  lines 
herself;  which  here  are  given  from  a  copy  in  the  Editor's  folio  MS. 
corrected  by  another  in  Allan  Ramsay's  Miscellany. 

[The  young  lady  alluded  to  above  has  since  been  set  aside  for 
the  Hon.  Anne  Bothwell,  daughter  of  Adam  Bothwell,  Bishop  of 
Orkney.  Mr.  James  Maidment,  in  his  elegant  edition  of  Scottish 
Ballads  and  Songs  (vol.  ii.  1868),  writes  :  "  The  late  Charles  Kirk- 
patrick  Sharpe,  Esquire,  whose  knowledge  of  antiquated  scandal 
was  extraordinary,  found  in  a  MS.  history  of  the  family  of  Bothwell 
by  Father  Hay,  that  Adam  Bothwell,  Bishop  of  Orkney,  had  a 
daughter  named  '  Anne,  who  fell  with  child  to  a  son  of  the  Earl 
of  Marre.'  "  Anne  was  the  sister  of  the  first  Lord  Holyroodhouse 
(created  in  1607),  and  her  seducer  was  Alexander,  third  son  of 
John,  seventh  Earl  of  Mar,  a  cousin  of  her  own,  considered  one  of 
the  handsomest  men  of  his  day.  This  is  all  very  well  for  con- 
jecture, but  it  is  nothing  more.  The  ballad  does  not  appear  to 
have  been  associated  with  a  Bothwell,  or  in  fact  with  any  named 
person,  until  more  than  a  century  after  it  was  written.  In  the 
Folio  MS.  it  is  simply  called  Balowe,  and  Percy  therefore  might 
well  have  hesitated  before  he  gave  it  the  heading  he  has,  and  before 
he  Scotticised  all  the  English  words.  The  four  earliest  versions 
are  in  the  following  books :  i.  Richard  Brome's  Comedy  of  the 
Northern  Lass,  or  the  Nest  of  Fools,  printed  in  1632,  but  acted 
somewhat  earlier;  2.  Percy  Folio;  3.  Pinkerton's  MS.  (1625-49), 
in  the  possession  of  David  Laing;  4.  John  Gamble's  MS.,  1649; 
2  P 


2IO  LADY   ANNE 

5.  Elizabeth  Rogers'  MS.,  1658.  Mr.  Chappell  drew  up  the 
following  very  valuable  note  for  the  edition  of  the  Percy  Folio 
(vol.  iii.  p.  518),  which  puts  the  matter  very  clearly: — 

*'  Baloo  is  a  sixteenth-century  ballad,  not  a  seventeenth.  It  is 
alluded  to  by  several  of  our  early  dramatists,  and  the  tune  is  to  be 
found  in  an  early  Elizabethan  MS.  known  as  William  Ballet's  Lute 
Book,  as  well  as  in  Morley's  Co7isoi't  Lessons^  printed  in  1599. 
The  words  and  tune  are  together  in  John  Gamble's  Music 
Book,  a  MS.  in  the  possession  of  Dr.  Rimbault,  (date  1649,) 
and  in  Elizabeth  Rogers's  Virginal  Book,  in  the  library  of  the 
British  Museum  (Addit.  MS.  10,337).  The  last  is  dated  1658, 
but  the  copy  may  have  been  taken  some  few  years  after.  Baloo 
was  so  popular  a  subject  that  it  was  printed  as  a  street  ballad, 
with  additional  stanzas,  just  as  '  My  lodging  it  is  on  the  cold 
ground'  and  other  popular  songs  were  lengthened  for  the  same 
purpose.  It  has  been  reprinted  in  that  form  by  Evans,  in  his  Old 
Ballads^  Historical  and  Narrative,  edit.  18 10,  vol.  i.  p.  259.  The 
title  is  *  The  New  Balow ;  or  A  Wenches  Lamentation  for  the  loss 
of  her  Sweetheart :  he  having  left  her  a  babe  to  play  with,  being 
the  fruits  of  her  folly.'  The  particular  honour  of  having  been  the 
'wench'  in  question  was  first  claimed  for  'Lady  Anne  Bothwell' 
in  Part  iii.  of  Comic  and  Serious  Scots  Foems,  published  by 
Watson  in  Edinburgh  in  1711.  Since  that  date  Scotch  antiquaries 
have  been  very  busy  in  searching  into  the  scandalous  history  of  the 
Bothwell  family,  to  find  out  which  of  the  Lady  Annes  might  have 
been  halla-balooing. 

"  May  we  not  release  the  whole  race  from  this  imputation  ? 
The  sole  authority  for  the  charge  is  Watson's  Collection  I  the 
same  book  that  ascribes  to  the  unfortunate  Montrose  the  song  of 
*  My  dear  and  only  love,  take  heed,'  and  tacks  it  as  a  second  part 
to  his  '  My  dear  and  only  love,  I  pray.'  Shade  of  Montrose  !  how 
must  you  be  ashamed  of  your  over-zealous  advocate  !  Let  us 
examine  whether  the  spirit  of  '  Lady  Anne  Bothwel '  has  more 
reason  to  be  grateful.  Among  the  stanzas  ascribed  to  her  by 
Watson  are  the  two  following,  which  are  not  to  be  found  in  any 
English  copy: — 

*  I  take  my  fate  from  best  to  worse 
That  I  must  needs  now  be  a  nurse, 
And  lull  my  young  son  in  my  lap. 
From  me,  sweet  orphan,  take  the  pap : 
Balow,  my  boy,  thy  mother  mild 
Shall  sing,  as  from  all  bliss  exil'd.' 

"  In  the  second  we  find  the  inducement  supposed  to  have  been 
offered  by  Lady  Anne's  lover : 


BOTHWELnS   LAMENT.         2\\ 

*  I  was  too  credulous  at  the  first 
To  grant  thee  that  a  maiden  durst, 
And  in  thy  bravery  thou  didst  vaunt 
That  I  no  maintenance  should  want :  (!) 
Thou  swear  thou  lov'd,  thy  mind  is  moved, 
Which  since  no  otherwise  has  proved.' 

"  Comment  is  unnecessary.  Can  any  one  believe  that  such 
lines  were  written  by  or  for  any  lady  of  rank?  Yet  they  were 
copied  as  Lady  Anne's  by  Allan  Ramsay,  and  polished  in  his 
usual  style.  They  have  been  polished  and  repolished  by  sub- 
sequent editors,  but  to  little  avail,  for  they  remain  great  blots  upon 
a  good  English  ballad.  There  is  not  a  Scotch  word,  nor  even  one 
peculiar  to  the  North  of  England,  in  the  whole  of  Watson's  ver 
sion." 

This  attempt  to  dispute  the  Scottish  origin  of  the  ballad  is 
strongly  resented  by  the  editor  of  the  Ballad  Minstrelsy  of  Scot- 
land, Glasgow,  187 1.  At  all  events  the  fact  remains  that  the  title 
"  Lady  Anne  BothwelFs  Balow "  cannot  be  traced  farther  back 
than  Watson's  Collectioft,  published  in  1711.] 


ALOW,^  my  babe,  lye  still  and  sleipe  ! 
It  grieves  me  sair  to  see  thee  weipe  : 
If  thoust  be  silent,  Ise  be  glad. 
Thy  maining^  maks  my  heart  ful  sad. 
Balow,  my  boy,  thy  mothers  joy,  5 

Thy  father  breides  me  great  annoy. 

Balow,  my  babe,  ly  stil  and  sleipe. 
It  grieves  me  sair  to  see  thee  weepe. 

Whan  he  began  to  court  my  luve, 

And  with  his  sugred  wordes*  to  muve,  10 


*  When  stiga7'  was  first  imported  into  Europe,  it  was  a  very  great 
dainty ;  and  therefore  the  epithet  sugred  is  used  by  all  our  old 
writers  metaphorically  to  express  extreme  and  delicate  sweetness, 
(See  above,  No.  XI.  v.  10.)  Sugar  2X  present  is  cheap  and  com- 
mon ;  and  therefore  suggests  now  a  coarse  and  vulgar  idea. 

\}  hush,  2  moaning.] 


212  LADY  ANNE 

His  faynings  fals,  and  flattering  cheire 
To  me  that  time  did  not  appeire ; 
But  now  I  see,  most  cruell  hee 
Cares  neither  for  my  babe  nor  mee. 

Balow,  &c.  15 

Lye  still,  my  darling,  sleipe  a  while. 

And  when  thou  wakest,  sweitly  smile : 

But  smile  not,  as  thy  father  did. 

To  cozen  maids  :  nay  God  forbid ! 

Bot  yett  I  feire,  thou  wilt  gae  neire  ao 

Thy  fatheris  hart,  and  face  to  beire. 

Balow,  &c. 

I  cannae  chuse,  but  ever  will 

Be  luving  to  thy  father  still : 

Whair-eir  he  gae,  whair-eir  he  ryde,  aj 

My  luve  with  him  doth  still  abyde  : 

In  weil  or  wae,  whair-eir  he  gae, 

Mine  hart  can  neire  depart  him  frae. 

Balow,  &c. 

Bot  doe  not,  doe  not,  prettie  mine,  30 

To  faynings  fals  thine  hart  incline : 
Be  loyal  to  thy  luver  trew. 
And  nevir  change  hir  for  a  new  : 
If  gude  or  faire,  of  hir  have  care, 
For  womens  banning  s^  wonderous  sair.  35, 

Balow,  &c. 

Bairne,  sin  thy  cruel  father  is  gane, 

Thy  winsome  smiles  maun  eise  my  paine ; 

My  babe  and  I'll  together  live. 

He'll  comfort  me  when  cares  doe  grieve  :         4a 

My  babe  and  I  right  saft  will  ly, 

And  quite  forgeit  man's  cruelty. 

Balow,  &c 

[^  cursing.l 


BOTHWELL'S    LAMENT.         213 

Farewell,  farewell,  thou  falsest  youth, 

That  evir  kist  a  womans  mouth  !  45 

I  wish  all  maides  be  warnd  by  mee 

Nevir  to  trust  mans  curtesy; 

For  if  we  doe  bot  chance  to  bow, 

They'le  use  us  then  they  care  not  how. 

Balow,  my  babe,  ly  stil,  and  sleipe,  50 

It  grives  me  sair  to  see  thee  weipe. 


XIV. 
THE  MURDER  OF  THE  KING  OF  SCOTS 


^^HE  catastrophe  of  Henry  Stewart,  lord  Darnley,  the  un- 
fortunate husband  of  Mary  Q.  of  Scots,  is  the  subject 


?5^  of  this  ballad.  It  is  here  related  in  that  partial,  im- 
perfect manner  in  which  such  an  event  would  naturally 
strike  the  subjects  of  another  kingdom,  of  which  he  was  a  native. 
Henry  appears  to  have  been  a  vain,  capricious,  worthless  young 
man,  of  weak  understanding,  and  dissolute  morals.  But  the  beauty 
of  his  person,  and  the  inexperience  of  his  youth,  would  dispose 
mankind  to  treat  him  with  an  indulgence,  which  the  cruelty  of  his 
murder  would  afterwards  convert  into  the  most  tender  pity  and 
regret :  and  then  imagination  would  not  fail  to  adorn  his  memory 
wdth  all  those  virtues  he  ought  to  have  possessed.  This  will 
account  for  the  extravagant  elogium  bestowed  upon  him  in  the 
first  stanza,  &c. 

Henry  lord  Darnley  was  eldest  son  of  the  earl  of  Lennox,  by 
the  lady  Margaret  Douglas,  niece  of  Henry  VIH.  and  daughter 
of  Margaret  queen  of  Scotland  by  the  earl  of  Angus,  whom  that 
princess  married  after  the  death  of  James  IV. — Darnley,  who  had 
been  born  and  educated  in  England,  was  but  in  his  21st  year,  when 
he  was  murdered,  Feb.  9,  1567-8.  This  crime  was  perpetrated  by 
the  E.  of  Bothwell,  not  out  of  respect  to  the  memory  of  Riccio. 
but  in  order  to  pave  the  way  for  his  own  marriage  with  the  queen 

This  ballad  (printed,  with  a  few  corrections,  from  the  Editor's 
folio  MS.)  seems  to  have  been  written  soon  after  Mary's  escape 
into  England  in  1568,  see  v.  65. — It  will  be  remembered  at  v.  5, 
that  this  princess  was  Q.  dowager  of  France,  having  been  first 
married  to  Francis  II.  v.'ho  died  Dec.  4,  ic;6o. 


2T4         THE    MURDER    OF    THE 

[In  the  above  note  Percy  takes  the  ordinary  unfavourable  view 
of  Darnley's  character,  which  is  not  entirely  borne  out  by  con- 
temporary evidence.  Darnley  was  unfortunate  both  in  having  all 
Mary's  friends  as  his  enemies  and  in  having  no  supporters  among 
her  opponents  because  he  was  a  Roman  Catholic.  It  is  not  fair  to 
dispose  of  such  a  ballad  as  the  present  with  the  inference  that  the 
writer  could  know  nothing  of  Darnley's  character.  It  does  not 
stand  alone,  and  it  appears  from  the  broadsides  that  circulated 
through  the  country  after  his  murder  that  the  people  had  a  real 
liking  for  him  although  he  had  been  amongst  them  only  a  couple 
of  years.  Robert  Lekprevik,  the  most  celebrated  Edinburgh 
printer  of  his  time,  printed  in  1567,  The  Testament  and  Tragedie 
of  iimqiihile  King  Henrie  Stewart  of  gude  me?7to?'ie,  a  powerful  poem, 
which  discovers  clearly  the  popular  feeling  against  Mary.  Mr. 
Froude  also  found  one  of  these  ballads  among  the  Scottish  State 
Papers,  in  which  curses  are  heaped  upon  Mary,  who  is  called 
Dalila,  Clytemnestra  and  Semiramis  for  her  murder  of  "  ane 
bonny  boy."     One  of  the  verses  is  as  follows  : — 

**  At  ten  houris  on  Sunday  late  at  een, 
When  Dalila  and  Bothwell  bade  good  night, 
Oif  her  finger  false  she  threw  ane  ring, 
And  said.  My  Lord  ane  token  you  I  plight." 

If  the  circumstances  of  the  English  ballad  are  related  in  a  partial 
and  imperfect  manner,  what  shdll  we  say  of  the  much  more  severe 
tone  of  those  written  in  Scotland.  Mr.  Maidment^  has  gathered 
together  a  few  facts  that  show  how  much  may  be  said  in  favour  of 
the  unfortunate  prince.  It  appears  from  Colville's  Bistorie  and  Life 
of  King  James  the  sext,  that  Secretary  Maitland  inflamed  Darnley's 
mind  with  the  insinuation  that  Rizzio  was  too  intimate  with  the 
queen.  The  criminal  familiarity  of  her  majesty  with  Rizzio 
appears  to  have  been  generally  suspected,  so  that  Darnley's 
conduct  was  that  of  a  jealous  husband  who  was  fascinated  with 
his  wife.  Colville  gives  the  following  portrait  of  him : — ''  He  was 
a  cumlie  Prince,  of  a  fayre  and  large  stature  of  bodie,  pleasant  in 
countenance  and  affable  to  all  men  and  devote,  weill  excercesit  in 
martiall  pastymis  uponn  horsback  as  ony  prince  of  that  age,  bot  was 
sa  facile  as  he  could  concele  no  secreit  although  it  myght  tend  to 
his  uwin  weill."  ^ 

He  was  certainly  accomplished  and  had  been  carefully  educated. 


1  James  Maidmenfs  Scottish  Ballads  and  Songs,  1868,  vol.  iL 
p.  12. 

'  Quoted  in  Maidmenfs  Ballads,  1868^  vol.  ii.  p.  8. 


KING    OF   SCOTS.  215 

He  wrote  a  iittle  tale  called  Utopia  Nova  when  he  was  between 
eight  and  nine  years  of  age,  which  he  presented  to  his  cousin, 
Mary  Tudor.  The  queen  in  return  presented  him  with  a  gold 
chain,  which  he  acknowledged  in  a  letter  remarkable  for  the 
extreme  beauty  of  its  caligraphy.  He  also  completed  a  trans- 
lation into  English  of  Valerius  Maximus.  Mr.  Froude  severely 
condemns  the  character  of  Darnley  in  the  following  terms :  "  He 
was  at  once  meddlesome  and  incapable,  weak  and  cowardly,  yet 
insolent  and  unmanageable,"  and  adds  that  Randolph  described 
him  as  "  a  conceited,  arrogant,  intolerant  fool.''  Nevertheless  "the 
death  of  the  husband  of  the  Queen  of  Scots  belongs  to  that  rare 
class  of  incidents  which,  like  the  murder  of  Caesar,  have  touched 
the  interests  of  the  entire  educated  world.  Perhaps  there  is  no 
single  recorded  act,  arising  merely  out  of  private  or  personal  passions, 
of  which  the  public  consequences  have  been  so  considerable."^ 

Darnley  was  the  second  son  of  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Len- 
nox, and  not,  as  stated  above,  by  Percy,  the  eldest.  Their  first-bom 
died  on  the  28th  of  November,  1545,  nine  months  after  his  birth. 

The  following  ballad  is  entitled  Earle  Bodwell  in  the  Folio  MS. 
(ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall,  vol.  ii.  p.  260).  In  the  first  three  edi 
tions  of  the  Reliqiies  there  were  more  alterations  from  the  MS.  than 
in  the  fourth,  for  in  the  latter  Percy  restored  several  of  the  old 
readings.  The  retained  alterations  are  judicious,  and  no  more  than 
the  Editor  might  well  feel  himself  justified  in  making.] 


OE  worth,  woe  worth  thee,  false  Scotlande  ! 
For  thou  hast  ever  wrought  by  sleight ; 
The  worthyest  prince  that  ever  was  borne, 
You  hanged  under  a  cloud  by  night. 

The  queene  of  France  a  letter  wrote,  « 

And  sealed  itt  with  harte  and  ringe ; 

And  bade  him  come  Scotland  within. 

And  shee  wold  marry  and  crowne  him  kinge. 


[Ver.   I.  woe  worth  thee,  woe  worth  thee,   MS.     V.  2.  by  a 
sleight.     V.  3.  for  the  worthyest.     V.  8.  wold  marry  him. 
^  Fronde's  History  of  £ng/and  (Elizsibeth),  vol.  iii.  pp.  1-2.] 


2i6         THE    MURDER    OF    THE 

To  be  a  king  is  a  pleasant  thing, 

To  bee  a  prince  unto  a  peere  :  lo 

But  you  have  heard,  and  soe  have  I  too, 

A  nian  may  well  buy  gold  too  deare. 

There  was  an  Italyan  in  that  place, 

Was  as  well  beloved  as  ever  was  hee, 
Lord  David  was  his  name,  15 

Chamberlaine  to  the  queene  was  hee. 

If  the  king  had  risen  forth  of  his  place. 

He  wold  have  sate  him  downe  in  the  cheare, 

And  tho  itt  beseemed  him  not  so  well, 

Altho  the  kinge  had  beene. present  there.  ao 

Some  lords  in  Scotlanue  waxed  wroth, 

And  quarrelled  with  him  for  the  nonce , 
I  shall  you  tell  how  it  befell, 

Twelve  daggers  were  in  him  att  once. 

When  the  queene  saw  her  chamberlaine  was  slaine,  25 

For  him  her  faire  cheeks  shee  did  weete. 
And  made  a  vowe  for  a  yeare  and  a  day  ^ 

The  king  and  shee  wold  not  come  in  one  sheete.  ^ 

Then  some  of  the  lords  they  waxed  wrothc, 

And  made  their  vow  all  vehementlye  ;  ^o 

For  the  death  of  the  queenes  chamberlaine, 
The  king  himselfe,  how  he  shall  dye. 

With  gun-powder  they  strewed  his  roome. 

And  layd  greene  rushes  in  his  w^ay ; 
For  the  traitors  thought  that  very  night  7^; 

This  worthye  king  for  to  betray. 

[Ver.  9.  it  is  a  pleasant.]  V,  15.  sicW$).  [V.  16.  chamberlaine 
unto.  V.  17.  ffor  if  the  king.  V.  18.  have  sitt  him.  V.  21.  won- 
dei'ous  wroth.  V.  24.  all  att  once.  V.  25.  when  this  queene  see 
the  chamberlaine.  V.  26.  her  cheeks.  V.  27.  vow  for  a  12  month. 
V.  29  Lords  of  Scottland  waxed.  V.  32.  the  king  himselfe  he  shall 
dye.  V.  33.  they  strowed  his  chamber  over  with  gunpowder. 
V.  35.  that  night.     V.  36.  the  worthye.] 


KING    OF   SCOTS.  217 

To  bedd  the  king  he  made  him  bowne;^ 

To  take  his  rest  was  his  desire ; 
He  was  noe  sooner  cast  on  sleepe, 

But  his  chamber  was  on  a  biasing  fire.  40 

Up  he  lope,^  and  the  window  brake,- 

And  hee  had  thirty e  foote  to  fall : 
Lord  Bodwell  kept  a  privy  watch. 

Underneath  his  castle  wall. 

Who  have  wee  here  ?  lord  Bodwell  sayd  :  45 

Now  answer  me,  that  I  may  know. 
**  King  Henry  the  eighth  my  uncle  was ; 

For  his  sweete  sake  some  pitty  show." 

Who  have  we  here  ?  lord  Bodwell  sayd, 

Now  answer  me  when  I  doe  speake.  50 

"  Ah,  lord  Bodwell,  I  know  thee  well ; 
Some  pitty  on  me  I  pray  thee  take." 

He  pitty  thee  as  much,  he  sayd. 

And  as  much  favor  show  to  thee, 
As  thou  didst  to  the  queenes  chamberlaine,  55 

That  day  thou  deemedst^  him  to  die.* 

Through  halls  and  towers  the  king  they  ledd, 
Through  towers  and  castles  that  were  nye, 

Through  an  arbor  into  an  orchard. 

There  on  a  peare-tree  hanged  him  hye.  60 

*  Pronounced  after  the  northern  manner  dee. 

[Ver.  37.  the  worthy  king  made.  V.  38.  that  was  his  desire. 
V.  41.  and  a  glasse  window  broke.  V.  42.  he  had  30  foote  for 
to  ffall.  V.  45.  sayd  Lord  Bodwell.  V.  46.  answer  me,  now  I 
doe  call.  V.  48.  some  pitty  show  for  his  sweet  sake.  V.  49,  50. 
these  two  lines  are  not  in  the  MS.,  but  are  here  introduced  to 
equalize  the  stanzas.  V.  54.  He  show  to  thee.  V.  55.  As  thou 
had  on  the.  V.  57.  this  king.  V.  58.  through  castles  and  towers 
that  were  hye.  V.  60.  and  there  hanged  him  in  a  peare  tree. 
^  ready.  2  leapt.  ^  doomedst.] 


2i8  A    SONNET   BY 

When  the  governor  of  Scotland  heard 
How  that  the  worthye  king  was  slaine  ; 

He  persued  the  queen  so  bitterlye, 

That  in  Scotland  shee  dare  not  remaine. 

But  she  is  fledd  into  merry  England,  65 

And  here  her  residence  hath  taine ; 
And  through  the  queene  of  Englands  grace, 

In  England  now  shee  doth  remaine. 


XV. 
A  SONNET   BY  Q.  ELIZABETH. 


^r/vcs 


HE  following  lines,  if  they  display  no  rich  vein  of  poetry, 
are  yet  so  strongly  characteristic  of  their  great  and 
spirited  authoress,  that  the  insertion  of  them  will  be 
pardoned.  They  are  preserved  in  Puttenham's  A^'te 
of  English  Poesie;  a  book  in  which  are  many  sly  addresses  to  the 
queen's  foible  of  shining  as  a  poetess.  The  extraordinary  manner 
in  which  these  verses  are  introduced  shews  what  kind  of  homage 
was  exacted  from  the  courtly  writers  of  that  age,  viz. 

"  I  find,"  says  this  antiquated  critic,  "  none  example  in  English 
metre,  so  well  maintaining  this  figure  \Exargasia,  or  the  Gorgeous, 
Lat.  JExpolitto]  as  that  dittie  of  her  majesties  owne  making,  passing 
sweete  and  harmonicall ;  which  figure  beyng  as  his  very  originall 
name  purporteth  the  most  bewtifull  and  gorgious  of  all  others,  it 
asketh  in  reason  to  be  reserved  for  a  last  complement,  and  de- 
sciphred  by  a  ladies  penne  herselfe  beyng  the  most  bewtifull,  or 
rather  bewtie  of  queenes.*  And  this  was  the  occasion:  our  sove- 
raigne  lady  perceiving  how  the  Scottish  queenes  residence  within 
this  realme  at  so  great  libertie  and  ease  (as  were  skarce  meete  for 
so  great  and  dangerous  a  prysoner)  bred  secret  factions  among  her 
people,  and  made  many  of  the  nobilitie  incline  to  favour  her  partie: 
some  of  them  desirous  of  innovation  in  the  state :   others  aspiring 

*  She  was  at  this  time  near  three-score. 

[Ver.  61.  Scottland  he  heard  tell.  V.  62.  that  the  worthye  king 
he  was  slaine.  V.  64.  he  hath  banished  the  queene.  V.  66.  and 
Scottland  to  aside  hath  laine.  V.  67.  good  grace.  V.  68.  now  in 
England,  MS.] 


Q,    ELIZABETH. 


219 


to  greater  fortunes  by  her  libertie  and  life.  The  queene  our  sove- 
raigne  ladie  to  declare  that  she  was  nothing  ignorant  of  those  secret 
practizes,  though  she  had  long  with  great  wisdome  and  pacience 
dissembled  it,  writeth  this  dittie  most  sweete  and  sententious,  not 
hiding  from  all  such  aspiring  minds  the  daunger  of  their  ambition 
and  disloyaltie :  which  afterward  fell  out  most  truly  by  th'  exem- 
plary chastisement  of  sundry  persons,  who  in  fauour  of  the  said  Sc. 
Q.  declining  from  her  Maiestie,  sought  to  interrupt  the  quiet  of  the 
Realme  by  many  euill  and  vndutiful  practizes.'^  (p.  207.) 

This  sonnet  was  probably  written  in  1584,  not  long  before  Hen. 
Percy  8th  E.  of  Northumberland  was  imprisoned  on  suspicion  of 
plotting  with  F.  Throckmorton,  Tho.  Lord  Paget,  and  the  Guises, 
for  invading  England,  and  liberating  the  Q.  of  Scots,  &c.  (See 
Collins's  Peerage,  1779,  ii.  405.)  The  original  is  written  in  long 
lines  or  alexandrines,  each  of  which  is  here,  on  account  of  the 
narrowness  of  the  page,  subdivided  into  two :  but  her  majesty's 
orthography,  or  at  least  that  of  her  copyist,  is  exactly  followed. 

In  the  first  edition  of  Harrington's  Nugce  Antiquce,  ist  vol.  1769, 
i2mo.  p.  58,  is  a  copy  of  this  poem,  with  great  variations,  the  best 
of  which  are  noted  below.  It  is  there  accompanied  with  a  very 
curious  letter,  in  which  this  sonnet  is  said  to  be  "  of  her  Highness 
own  enditing  .  .  .  My  Lady  Willoughby  did  covertly  get  it  on  her 
Majesties  tablet,  and  had  much  hazard  in  so  doing;  for  the  Queen 
did  find  out  the  thief,  and  chid  for  spreading  evil  bruit  of  her 
writing  such  toyes,  when  other  matters  did  so  occupy  her  employ- 
ment at  this  time ;  and  was  fearful  of  being  thought  too  lightly  of 
for  so  doing."  *  *  * 


^Ci«j.gD=<5ig^^;^^^ 


H  E  doubt  of  future  foes, 

Exiles  my  present  ioy, 
And  wit  me  warnes  to  shun  such  snares 
As  threaten  mine  annoy. 

For  falshood  now  doth  flow, 

And  subiect  faith  doth  ebbe, 
Which  would  not  be,  if  reason  rul'd 

Or  wisdome  weu'd  the  webbe. 

But  clowdes  of  iois  vntried, 
Do  cloake  aspiring  mindes, 


lO 


Ver.  I.   dread,  Harrington's  ed.     V.  6.  subjects,    Har.     V.  7. 
should,  Har.     V.  8.  wove,  Har. 


220     A   SONNET  BY  Q.   ELIZABETH. 

Which  turne  to  ralne  of  late  repent. 
By  course  of  changed  windes. 

The  toppe  of  hope  supposed, 

The  roote  of  ruthe  wil  be, 
And  frutelesse  all  their  graffed  guiles,  i  ^ 

As  shortly  ye  shall  see. 

Then  dazeld  eyes  with  pride, 

Which  great  ambition  blinds, 
Shalbe  vnseeld  by  worthy  wights, 

Whose  foresight  falshood  finds.  so 

The  daughter  of  debate,* 

That  eke  discord  doth  sowe, 
Shal  reap  no  gaine  where  former  rule 

Hath  taught  stil  peace  to  growe. 

No  forreine  bannisht  wight  as 

Shall  ancre  in  this  port, 
Our  realme  it  brookes  no  strangers  force, 

Let  them  elsewhere  resort. 

Our  rusty  sworde  with  rest, 

Shall  first  his  edge  employ,  no 

To  polle  their  toppes,  that  seeke  such  change. 

And  gape  for  *  such  like '  ioy. 

tit  I  cannot  help  subjoining  to  the  above  sonnet  another  dis- 
tich of  Elizabeth's  preserved  by  Puttenham  (p.  197)  "which  (says 
he)  our  soveraigne  lady  wrote  in  defiance  of  fortune." 

"  Never  thinke  you.  Fortune  can  beare  the  sway, 
Where  Vertue's  force  can  cause  her  to  obay.'* 

The  slightest  effusion  of  such  a  mind  deserves  attention. 

*  Scil.  the  Queen  of  Scots. 

Ver.  9.  joys,  Har.  V.  11.  raigne,  Puttenham.  V.  22.  That 
discorde  aye,  Har.  V.  23.  formor,  Put.  V.  27.  realme  brookes 
no  seditious  Sects,  Har.  V.  32.  "such  like"  is  suppHed  from 
Harrington's  ed.,  in  which  are  other  variations,  that  seem  meer 
mistakes  of  the  transcriber  or  printer. 


KING    OF   SCOTS.  221 

XVI. 

KING    OF    SCOTS    AND    ANDREW 
BROWNE. 

'his  ballad  is  a  proof  of  the  little  intercourse  that  subsisted 
between  the  Scots  and  English,  before  the  accession  of 
James  I.  to  the  crown  of  England.  The  tale  which  is 
here  so  circumstantially  related  does  not  appear  to  have 
had  the  least  foundation  in  history,  but  was  probably  built  upon 
some  confused  hearsay  report  of  the  tumults  in  Scotland  during  the 
minority  of  that  prince,  and  of  the  conspiracies  formed  by  dif- 
ferent factions  to  get  possession  of  his  person.  It  should  seem 
from  ver.  97  to  have  been  written  during  the  regency,  or  at  least 
before  the  death,  of  the  earl  of  Morton,  who  was  condemned  and 
executed  June  2,  1581;  when  James  was  in  his  15th  year. 

The  original  copy  (preserved  in  the  archives  of  the  Antiquarian 
Society,  London)  is  intitled,  A  new  Ballad,  declaring  the  great 
t7'eason  conspired  against  the  young  king  of  Scots,  and  how  one  An- 
drew Browne  an  English-ma7i,  which  was  the  king's  chamberlainCy 
prevented  the  same.  To  the  tune  of  Milfield,  or  els  to  Green-sleeves. 
At  the  end  is  subjoined  the  name  of  the  author  "  W.  Elderton. 
Imprinted  at  London  for  Yarathe  James,  dwelHng  in  Newgate 
Market,  over  against  Ch.  Church,"  in  black-letter,  folio. 

This  Elderton,  who  had  been  originally  an  attorney  in  the 
sheriffs'  courts  of  London,  and  afterwards  (if  we  may  believe 
Oldys)  a  comedian,  was  a  facetious  fuddling  companion,  whose 
tippling  and  rhymes  rendered  him  famous  among  his  contem- 
poraries. He  was  author  of  many  popular  songs  and  ballads: 
and  probably  other  pieces  in  these  volumes,  besides  the  following, 
are  of  his  composing.  He  is  believed  to  have  fallen  a  victim  to 
his  bottle  before  the  year  1592.  His  epitaph  has  been  recorded 
by  Camden,  and  translated  by  Oldys : — 

"  Hie  situs  est  sitiens,  atque  ebrius  Eldertonus, 
Quid  dice  hie  situs  est  ?  hie  potius  sitis  est." 

"  Dead  drunk  here  Elderton  doth  lie ; 
Dead  as  he  is,  he  still  is  dry  : 
So  of  him  it  may  well  be  said. 
Here  he,  but  not  his  thirst,  is  laid." 

See  Stow's  Lond,  \(^uild  Hall\ — Biog\  Brit.  \_JDrayton,  by  Oldys 


222  KING    OF  SCOTS   AND 

Note  B.]  Ath.  Ox. — Camden's  Remains. — The  Exale-tation  of  Ale ^ 
among  Beaumont's  Poems,  8vo.  1653. 

[This  ballad  was  licensed  to  Y.  James  on  the  30th  of  May,  1581 
Percy  does  not  mention  in  the  above  note  the  fact  that  the  ballad 
is  included  in  the  Folio  MS.,  where  it  is  entitled  Bishoppe  and 
Browne  (ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall,  vol.  ii.  p.  265).  It  only  consists 
of  ten  stanzas  in  place  of  fifteen,  and  two  of  them  are  incomplete. 
There  is  a  sort  of  second  part,  probably  also  by  Elderton,  called 
Kmg  James  and  Brown,  in  the  MS.  (vol.  i.  p.  135),  the  villain  of 
which  is  the  same  Douglas  who  is  warned  in  the  98th  verse  of  the 
present  ballad  to  "  take  heede  you  do  not  offend  the  king."] 


UT  alas  T  what  a  griefe  is  this 

That  princes  subjects  cannot  be  true, 
But  still  the  devill  hath  some  of  his. 
Will  play  their  parts  whatsoever  erssue; 
Forgetting  what  a  grievous  thing  5 

It  is  to  offend  the  anointed  king  ? 

Alas  for  woe,  why  should  it  be  so, 
This  makes  a  sorrowful  heigh  ho. 

In  Scotland  is  a  bonnie  kinge. 

As  proper  a  youth  as  neede  to  be,  10 

Well  given  to  every  happy  thing. 

That  can  be  in  a  kinge  to  see  : 
Yet  that  unluckie  country  still. 
Hath  people  given  to  craftie  will. 

Alas  for  woe,  &:c.  15 

On  Whitsun  eve  it  so  befell, 

A  posset  was  made  to  give  the  king, 

Whereof  his  ladie  nurse  hard  tell, 
And  that  it  was  a  poysoned  thing : 

She  cryed,  and  called  piteouslie  ;  ao 

Now  help,  or  els  the  king  shall  die! 
Alas  for  woe,  &:c. 


ANDREW   BROWNE.  223 

One  Browne,  that  was  an  English  man, 

And  hard  the  ladies  piteous  crye, 
Out  with  his  sword,  and  bestir  d  him  than,  25 

Out  of  the  doores  in  haste  to  flie ; 
But  all  the  doores  were  made  so  fast, 
Out  of  a  window  he  got  at  last. 
Alas  for  woe,  &;c. 

He  met  the  bishop  coming  fast,  30 

Having  the  posset  in  his  hande : 
The  sight  of  Browne  made  him  aghast, 

Who  bad  him  stoutly  staie  and  stand. 
Witli  him  were  two  that  ranne  awa. 
For  feare  that  Browne  would  make  a  fray.  35 

Alas  for  woe,  &c. 

Bishop,  quoth  Browne,  what  hast  thou  there  ? 

Nothing  at  all,  my  friend,  sayde  he ; 
But  a  posseL  to  make  the  king  good  cheere. 

Is  it  so  ?  sayd  Browne,  that  will  I  see,  40 

First  I  will  have  thyself  begin, 
Before  thou  go  any  further  in ; 

Be  it  weale  or  woe,  it  shall  be  so. 
This  m.akes  a  sorrowful  heigh  ho. 

The  bishop  sayde,  Browne  I  doo  know,  45 

Thou  art  a  young  man  poore  and  bare  ; 
Livings  on  thee  I  will  bestowe  : 

Let  me  go  on,  take  thou  no  care. 
No,  no,  quoth  Browne,  I  will  not  be 
A  traitour  for  all  Christiantie  :  50 

Happe  well  or  woe,  it  shall  be  so. 
Drink  now  with  a  sorrowful],  &c. 

The  bishop  dranke,  and  by  and  by 

His  belly  burst  and  he  fell  downe : 
A  just  rewarde  for  his  traitery.  55 

This  was  a  posset  indeed,  quoth  Brown ! 


224  KING    OF   SCOTS   AND 

He  serched  the  bishop,  and  found  the  keyes, 
To  come  to  the  kinge  when  he  did  please. 
Alas  for  woe,  &c. 

As  soon  as  the  king  got  word  of  this,  60 

He  humbly  fell  uppon  his  knee, 
And  praysed  God  that  he  did  misse 

To  tast  of  that  extremity  : 
For  that  he  did  perceive  and  know, 
His  clergie  would  betray  him  so  :  65 

Alas  for  woe,  &c. 

Alas,  he  said,  unhappie  realme. 

My  father,  and  grandfather  slaine : 
My  mother  banished,  O  extreame ! 

Unhappy  fate,  and  bitter  bayne  !  70 

And  now  like  treason  wrought  for  me. 
What  more  unhappie  realme  can  be  1 
Alas  for  woe,  &c. 

The  king  did  call  his  nurse  to  his  grace. 

And  gave  her  twenty  poundes  a  yeere ;  75 

And  trustie  Browne  too  in  like  case, 

He  knighted  him  with  gallant  geere  ; 
And  gave  him  *  lands  and '  livings  great, 
For  dooing  such  a  manly  feat, 

As  he  did  showe,  to  the  bishop*s  woe,  80 

Which  made,  &c. 

When  all  this  treason  done  and  past, 

Tooke  not  effect  of  traytery ; 
Another  treason  at  the  last, 

They  sought  against  his  majestic  :  85 


Ver.  67.  His  father  was  Henry  Lord  Darnley.  His  grandfather 
the  old  Earl  of  Lenox,  regent  of  Scotland,  and  father  of  Lord 
Darnley,  was  murdered  at  Stirling,  Sept.  5,  157 1. 


ANDREW  BROWNE.  225 

How  they  might  make  their  kinge  away, 
By  a  privie  banket^  on  a  daye. 
Alas  for  woe,  &c. 

'  Anotlier  time '  to  sell  the  king 

Beyonde  the  seas  they  had  decreede  :  9> 

Three  noble  Earles  heard  of  this  thincr. 

And  did  prevent  the  same  with  speede. 
For  a  letter  came,  with  such  a  charme. 
That  they  should  doo  their  king  no  harme : 

For  further  woe,  if  they  did  soe,  95 

Would  make  a  sorrowful  heigh  hoe. 

The  Earle  Mourton  told  the  Douglas  then. 
Take  heede  you  do  not  offend  the  king  ; 
But  shew  yourselves  like  honest  men 

Obediently  in  every  thing:  100 

For  his  godmother*  will  not  see 
Her  noble  childe  misus'd  to  be 

With  any  woe  ;  for  if  it  be  so, 
She  will  make,  &c. 

God  graunt  all  subjects  may  be  true,  105 

In  England,  Scotland,  every  where  : 
That  no  such  daunger  may  ensue, 

To  put  the  prince  or  state  in  feare  : 
That  God  the  highest  king  may  see 
Obedience  as  it  ought  to  be,  no 

In  wealth  or  woe,  God  graunt  it  De  so 
To  avoide  the  sorrowful  heigh  ho. 


*  Q.  Elizabeth. 
P  banquet,] 


226  THE   BONNY 

XVII. 

THE    BONNY   EARL   OF    MURRAY 

A  Scottish  Song. 

'N  December,  1591,  Francis  Stewart,  Earl  of  Bothwell, 
had  made  an  attempt  to  seize  on  the  person  of  his 
sovereign  James  VI.,  but  being  disappointed,  had  retired 
towards  the  north.  The  king  unadvisedly  gave  a  com- 
mission to  George  Gordon  Earl  of  Huntley,  to  pursue  Bothwell 
and  his  followers  with  fire  and  sword.  Huntley,  under  cover  ot 
executing  that  commission,  took  occasion  to  revenge  a  private 
quarrel  he  had  against  James  Stewart  Earl  of  Murray,  a  relation 
of  Bothwell's.  In  the  night  of  Feb.  7,  1592,  he  beset  Murray's 
house,  burnt  it  to  the  ground,  and  slew  Murray  himself;  a  young 
nobleman  of  the  most  promising  virtues,  and  the  very  darling  of 
the  people.    See  Robertson's  Hist, 

The  present  Lord  Murray  hath  now  in  his  possession  a  picture 
of  his  ancestor  naked  and  covered  with  wounds,  which  had  been 
carried  about,  according  to  the  custom  of  that  age,  in  order  to 
inflame  the  populace  to  revenge  his  death.  If  this  picture  did  not 
flatter,  he  well  deserved  the  name  of  the  bonny  Ea7'l,  for  he  is  there 
represented  as  a  tall  and  comely  personage.  It  is  a  tradition  in 
the  family,  that  Gordon  of  Bucky  gave  him  a  wound  in  the  face ; 
Murray  half  expiring,  said,  "  You  hae  spilt  a  better  face  than  your 
awin."  Upon  this,  Bucky  pointing  his  dagger  at  Huntley's  breast, 
swore,  "  You  shall  be  as  deep  as  I ;"  and  forced  him  to  pierce  the 
poor  defenceless  body. 

K.  James,  who  took  no  care  to  punish  the  murtherers,  is  said  by 
some  to  have  privately  countenanced  and  abetted  them,  being 
stimulated  by  jealousy  for  some  indiscreet  praises  which  his  Queen 
had  too  lavishly  bestowed  on  this  unfortunate  youth.  See  the 
preface  to  the  next  ballad.  See  also  Mr.  Walpole's  Catalogue  of 
Royal  Auth.  vol.  i.  p.  42. 

[James  Stewart,  son  of  Sir  James  Stewart  of  Doune,  acquired 
the  earldom  of  Murray  by  his  marriage  with  Elizabeth,  eldest 
daughter  and  heiress  of  the  Regent  Murray.  The  earl  was  only 
twenty-one  years  of  age  at  the  time  of  his  murder,  which  was 
perpetrated  at  Dinnibrissel,  the  seat  of  his  mother,  where  he  was 
)n  a  visit.     Doune  Castle  in  Menteith  is  now  in  ruins,  but  it  is 


I 


i 


EARL    OF   MURRAY,  227 

still  the  property  of  the  family,  and  gives  the  title  of  Viscount  to 
tne  eldest  son  of  the  Earl  of  Murray.  The  Earl  of  Huntley, 
instead  of  being  punished  for  his  crime,  was  created  a  marquis, 
and  King  James  made  the  young  earl  of  Murray  marry  the  eldest 
daughter  of  his  father's  murderer. 

There  is  another  version  of  this  ballad  given  in  Finla/s  Scottish 
Ballads  (ii.  21),  which  commences — 

"  Open  the  gates 

And  let  him  come  in  ; 
He  is  my  brother  Huntly, 

He'll  do  me  nae  harm." 

The  author  of  this  seems  to  have  supposed  that  Murray  married  a 
sister  of  Huntley.] 


E  highlands,  and  ye  lawlands, 
Oh  !  quhair  hae  ye  been  ? 
They  hae  slalne  the  Earl  of  Murray, 
And  hae  laid  him  on  the  green. 

Now  wae  be  to  thee,  Huntley !  5 

And  quhalrfore  did  you  sae  ! 
I  bade  you  bring  him  wi'  you, 

But  forbade  you  him  to  slay. 

He  was  a  braw  gallant, 

And  he  rid  at  the  ring  ;  »o 

And  the  bonny  Earl  of  Murray, 

Oh  !  he  might  hae  been  a  king. 

He  was  a  braw  gallant. 

And  he  playd  at  the  ba  ; 
And  the  bonny  Earl  of  Murray  15 

Was  the  flower  among  them  a*. 

He  was  a  braw  gallant, 

And  he  playd  at  the  gluve ; 
And  the  bonny  Earl  of  Murray, 

Oh  !  he  was  the  Queenes  luve.  ao 


228       THE    EARL    OF   MURRAY, 

Oh  !  lang  will  his  lady 

Luke  owre  the  castle  downe,"^'* 

Ere  she  see  the  Earl  of  Murray 
Cum  sounding  throw  the  towne. 


XVIII. 

YOUNG    WATERS. 
A  Scottish  Ballad. 


!T  has  been  suggested  to  the  Editor,  that  this  ballad 
covertly  alludes  to  the  indiscreet  partiality,  which 
Q.  Anne  of  Denmark  is  said  to  have  shewn  for  the 
bo7iny  Earl  of  Murray ;  and  which  is  supposed  to  have 
influenced  the  fate  of  that  unhappy  nobleman.  Let  the  reader 
judge  for  himself. 

The  following  account  of  the  murder  is  given  by  a  contemporary 
writer,  and  a  person  of  credit.  Sir  James  Balfour,  knight,  Lyon 
King  of  Arms,  whose  MS.  of  the  Annals  of  Scotland  is  in  the 
Advocates  library  at  Edinburgh. 

"The  seventh  of  Febry,  this  yeire,  1592,  the  Earle  of  Murray 
was  cruelly  murthered  by  the  Earle  of  Huntley  at  his  house  in 
Dunibrissel  in  Fyffe-shyre,  and  with  him  Dumbar,  shrifFe  of  Mur- 
ray. It  [was]  given  out  and  publickly  talked,  that  the  Earle 
of  Huntley  was  only  the  instrument  of  perpetrating  this  facte, 
to  satisfie  the  King's  jealousie  of  Murray,  quhum  the  Queine 
more  rashely  than  wyslie,  some  few  dayes  before  had  commendit 
in  the  King's  heiringe,  with  too  many  epithets  of  a  proper  and 
gallant  man.  The  reasons  of  these  surmises  proceidit  from  pro- 
clamatione  of  the  Kings,  the  18  of  Marche  following;  inhibiting 
the  younge  Earle  of  Murray  to  persue  the  Earle  of  Huntley,  for  his 
father's  slaughter,  in  respect  he  being  wardit  [imprisoned]  in  the 
castell  of  Blacknesse  for  the  same  murther,  was  willing  to  abide 
his  tryall,  averring  that  he  had  done  nothing  bot  by  the  King's 


*  Castle  do7vne  here  has  been  thought  to  mean  the  Castle  of 
Do7vne^  a  seat  belonging  to  the  family  of  Murray. 


YOUNG    WATERS.  229 

majesties   commissione  j    and   ^vas   neither  airt  nor  part  of  the 
murther/'* 

The  follomng  ballad  is  here  given  from  a  copy  printed  not  long 
since  at  Glasgow,  in  one  sheet  8vo.  The  world  was  indebted  for 
its  publication  to  the  lady  Jean  Hume,  sister  to  the  Earl  of  Hume, 
who  died  at  Gibraltar  [in  1761]. 

[Buchan,  who  printed  a  longer  version  of  this  ballad  in  thirty- 
nine  stanzas,  believed  young  Waters  to  have  been  David  Graham 
of  Fintray,  who  was  found  guilty  of  being  concerned  in  a  Popish 
plot,  and  beheaded  on  the  i6th  of  February,  1592.  Chambers 
supposed  that  the  fate  of  some  one  of  the  Scottish  nobles  executed 
by  James  I.  after  his  return  from  captivity  in  England  is  alluded  to. 
The  various  conflicting  conjectures  are  none  of  them  very  probable, 
and  there  is  nothing  in  the  ballad  that  would  conclusively  connect 
it  with  authentic  Scottish  history.  Percy's  suggestion  is  peculiarly 
unfortunate,  as  young  Waters  was  publicly  executed  at  Stirling. 
Mr.  Maidment  points  out  {Scottish  Ballads  and  Sengs,  vol.  i.  p.  62) 
that  the  first  edition  appeared  under  the  following  title.  Young 
Waters,  an  Ancient  Scotish  Poem,  jiever  before  printed.  Glasgow : 
printed  and  sold  by  Robert  and  Andrew  Foul  is,  MDCCL  V.  sm.  4to. 
pp.  8 ;  and  he  suggests  that  Lord  Hailes  was  the  editor  of  it.] 


BOUT  Yule,  quhen  the  wind  blew  cule, 
And  the  round  tables  began, 
A'  !  there  is  cum  to  our  kings  court 
Mony  a  well-favourd  man. 

The  queen  luikt  owre  the  castle  wa.  5 

Beheld  baith  dale  and  down, 
And  then  she  saw  young  Waters 

Cum  riding  to  the  town. 

His  footmen  they  did  rin  before, 

His  horsemen  rade  behind,  10 

Ane  mantel  of  the  burning  gowd 

Did  keip  him  frae  the  wind. 


[*  Vol.  i,  Edin.  1824.] 


«5 


ao 


230  YOUNG    WATERS. 

Gowden  graith'd^  his  horse  before 

And  siller  shod  behind, 
The  horse  yong  Waters  rade  upon 

Was  fleeter  than  the  wind. 

But  then  spake  a  wylie  lord, 

Unto  the  queen  said  he, 
O  tell  me  quha  s  the  fairest  face 

Rides  in  the  company. 

I've  sene  lord,  and  I've  sene  laird, 

And  knights  of  high  degree ; 
Bot  a  fairer  face  than  young  Waters 

Mine  eyne  did  never  see. 

Out  then  spack  the  jealous  king,  25 

(And  an  angry  man  was  he) 
O,  if  he  had  been  twice  as  fair. 

You  micht  have  excepted  me. 

You're  neither  laird  nor  lord,  she  says, 

Bot  the  king  that  wears  the  crown  ;  3© 

Ther  is  not  a  knight  in  fair  Scotland 
Bot  to  thee  maun  bow  down. 

For  a'  that  she  could  do  or  say, 

Appeasd  he  wad  nae  bee ; 
Bot  for  the  words  which  she  had  said  35 

Youne  Waters  he  m.aun  dee. 

They  hae  taen  young  Waters,  and 

Put  fetters  to  his  feet ; 
They  hae  taen  young  Waters,  and 

Thrown  him  in  dungeon  deep.  40 


[^  caparisoned  Avith  golden  accoutrements.] 


YOUNG    WATERS,  231 

Aft  I  have  ridden  thro'  StirHng  town 

In  the  wind  both  and  the  weit ; 
Bot  I  neir  rade  thro'  Stirhng  town 

Wi  fetters  at  my  feet. 

Aft  have  I  ridden  thro'  StirHng  town  45 

In  the  wind  both  and  the  rain ; 
Bot  I  neir  rade  thro'  StirHng  town 

Neir  to  return  again. 

They  hae  taen  to  the  heiding-hih* 

His  young  son  in  his  craddle,  50 

And  they  hae  taen  to  the  heiding-hiH, 
His  horse  both  and  his  saddle. 

They  hae  taen  to  the  heiding-hill 

His  lady  fair  to  see. 
And  for  the  words  the  Queen  had  spoke,     55 

Young  Waters  he  did  dee. 


XIX. 

MARY  AMBREE. 


N  the  year  1584,  the  Spaniards,  under  the  command  of 
Alexander  Farnese,  prince  of  Parma,  began  to  gain 
great  advantages  in  Flanders  and  Brabant,  by  re- 
covering many  strong  holds  and  cities  from  the  Hol- 
landers, as  Ghent,  (called  then  by  the  English  Gaunt,)  Antwerp, 
Mechlin,  &c.  See  Stow's  Annals,  p.  711.  Some  attempt  made 
with  the  assistance  of  English  volunteers  to  retrieve  the  former  of 
those  places  probably  gave  occasion  to  this  ballad.  I  can  find  no 
mention  of  our  heroine  in  history,  but  the  following  rhymes  ren- 
dered her  famous  among  our  poets.  Ben  Jonson  often  mentions  her, 


*  Heiding-hill ;  i.  e.  heading  [beheading]  hill.    The  place  of  exe- 
cution was  anciently  an  artificial  hillock. 


232  MARY  A  MB  REE, 

and  calls  any  remarkable  virago  by  her  name.  See  his  Epicoene, 
first  acted  in  1609,  act  iv.  sc.  2.  His  Tale  of  a  Tub,  act  i.  sc.  2. 
And  his  masque  intitled  the  Fortunate  Jsles^  1626,  where  he  quotes 
the  very  words  of  the  ballad, 

Alary  Anibree^ 


(Who  marched  so  free 
To  the  siege  of  Gaunt, 
And  death  could  not  daunt, 
As  the  ballad  doth  vaunt) 
Were  a  braver  wight,  &c." 

She  is  also  mentioned  in  Fletcher's  Scornful  Lady,  act  v.  sub 
finem. 

"  My  large  gentlewoman,   my  Mary  Ambree,  had  I  but 

seen  into  you,  you  should  have  had  another  bed-fellow." 


It  is  likewise  evident,  that  she  is  the  virago  intended  by  Butler 
in  Hudibras  (p.  i.  c.  iii.  v.  365),  by  her  being  coupled  with  Joan 
a^ArCi  the  celebrated  Fucelle  d  Orleans. 

"  A  bold  virago  stout  and  tall 

As  Joan  of  France,  or  English  MalV* 

This  ballad  is  printed  from  a  black  letter  copy  in  the  Pepys 
Collection,  improved  from  the  Editor's  folio  MS.  and  by  conjecture. 
The  full  title  is,  The  valorous  acts  pe?'formed  at  Gaunt  by  the  brave 
bo7inie  lass  Mary  Ambree,  who  in  revenge  of  her  lovers  death  did  play 
her  part  most  gallantly .     The  tune  is.  The  blind  beggar^  6^^." 

[The  copy  from  the  MS.,  which  is  printed  at  the  end,  will  be 
found  to  differ  considerably  from  the  following  version.] 


jS^^HHEN  captain's  couraglous,  whom  death  cold 
'    ]/  not  daunte, 

'1^  Did  march  to  the  siege  of  the  citty  of  Gaunt, 
lip  They  mustred  their  souldiers  by  two  and 
by  three, 
And  the  formost  in  battle  was  Mary  Ambree. 

When  brave  Sir  John  Major*  was  slaine  in  her  sight,  5 
Who  was  her  true  lover,  her  joy,  and  deHght, 

*  So  MS.     Serjeant  Maf or  \vi.  PC. 


MARY  A  MB  REE.  233 

Because  he  was  slaine  most  treacherouslie, 
l^hen  vowd  to  revenge  him  Mary  Ambree. 

She  clothed  herselfe  from  the  top  to  the  toe 

In  buffe  of  the  bravest,  most  seemelye  to  showe;    lo 

A  faire  shirt  of  male*  then  slipped  on  shee  ; 

Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lass,  Mary  Ambree  ? 

A  helmett  of  proofe  shee  strait  did  provide, 
A  strong  arminge  sword  shee  girt  by  her  side, 
On  her  hand  a  goodly  faire  gauntlett  put  shee  ;       15 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lass,  Mary  Ambree  ? 

Then  tooke  shee  her  sworde  and  her  targett  in  hand, 
Bidding  all  such,  as  wold,  bee  of  her  band ; 
To  wayte  on  her  person  came  thousand  and  three  : 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lass,  Mary  Ambree  ?    to 

My  soldiers,  she  saith,  soe  valiant  and  bold, 

Nowe  followe  your  captaine,  whom  you  doe  beholde; 

Still  foremost  in  battel  myselfe  will  I  bee  : 

Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree  ? 

Then  cryed  out  her  souldiers,  and  loude  they  did  say,  25 
Soe  well  thou  becomest  this  gallant  array, 
Thy  harte  and  thy  weapons  soe  well  do  agree, 
There  was  none  ever  like  Mary  Ambree. 

Shee  cheared  her  souldiers,  that  foughten  for  life, 
With  ancyent  and  standard,  with  drum  and  with  fyfe,  30 
With  brave  clanging  trumpetts,  that  sounded  so  free  ; 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree? 

Before  I  will  see  the  worst  of  you  all 

To  come  into  danger  of  death,  or  of  thrall. 

This  hand  and  this  life  I  will  venture  so  free  :  35 

Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree  ? 

*  A  peculiar  kind  of  armour,  composed  of  small  rings  of  iron, 
and  worn  under  the  cloaths.  It  is  mentioned  by  Spencer,  who 
speaks  of  the  Irish  Gallowglass  or  Foot-soldier  as  "  armed  in  a 
long  Shirt  of  Mayl."     (  Vieiv  of  the  State  of  Ireland.^ 


234  MARY  A  MB  REE, 

Shee  led  upp  her  souldiers  in  battaile  array, 

Gainst  three  times  theyr  number  by  breakeof  the  daye ; 

Seven  howers  In  skirmish  continued  shee  : 

Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree  ?  40 

She  filled  the  skyes  with  the  smoke  of  her  shott, 
And  her  enemyes  bodyes  with  bullets  soe  hott ; 
For  one  of  her  owne  men  a  score  killed  shee  : 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree  ? 

And  when  her  false  gunner,  to  spoyle  her  Intent,     45 
Away  all  her  pellets  and  powder  had  sent. 
Straight  with  her  keen  weapon  shee  slasht  him  In  three: 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree? 

Being  falselye  betrayed  for  lucre  of  hyre, 
At  length  she  was  forced  to  make  a  retyre ;  50 

Then  her  souldiers  into  a  strong  castle  drew  shee  : 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree? 

Her  foes  they  besett  her  on  everye  side, 

As  thinking  close  siege  shee  cold  never  abide ; 

To  beate  down  the  walles  they  all  did  decree  :         55 

But  stoutlye  deffyd  them  brave  Mary  Ambree. 

Then  tooke  shee  her  sword  and  her  targett  in  hand, 
And  mounting  the  walls  all  undaunted  did  stand, 
There  daring  their  captalnes  to  match  any  three : 
O  what  a  brave  captaine  was  Mary  Ambree !  60 

Now  saye,  English  captaine,  what  woldest  thou  give 
To  ransome  thy  selfe,  which  else  must  not  live  ? 
Come  yield  thy  selfe  quicklye,  or  slalne  thou  must  bee. 
Then  smiled  sweetlye  brave  Mary  Ambree. 

Ye  captalnes  couragious,  of  valour  so  bold,  65 

Whom  thinke  you  before  you  now  you  doe  behold  i^ 
A  knight,  sir,  of  England,  and  captaine  soe  free, 
Who  shortelye  with  us  a  prisoner  must  bee. 


MARY   A  MB  REE,  235 

No  cap  tame  of  England  ;  behold  In  your  sight 
Two  brests  In  my  bosome,  and  therfore  no  knight:  70 
Noe  knight,  sirs,  of  England,  nor  captalne  you  see, 
But  a  poor  simple  lass,  called  Mary  Ambree. 

But  art  thou  a  woman,  as  thou  dost  declare, 
Whose  valor  hath  provd  so  undaunted  In  warre  ? 
If  England  doth  yield  such  brave  lasses  as  thee,      75 
Full  well  may  they  conquer,  faire  Mary  Ambree. 

The  prince  of  Great  Parma  heard  of  her  renowne, 
Who  long  had  advanced  for  Englands  faire  crowne  ; 
Hee  wooed  her  and  sued  her  his  mistress  to  bee. 
And  offerd  rich  presents  to  Mary  Ambree.  So 

But  this  virtuous  mayden  despised  them  all, 
He  nere  sell  my  honour  for  purple  nor  pall : 
A  mayden  of  England,  sir,  never  will  bee 
The  whore  of  a  monarcke,  quoth  Mary  Ambree. 

Then  to  her  owne  country  shee  backe  did  returne,  85 
Still  holding  the  foes  of  faire  England  in  scorne : 
Therfore  English  captalnes  of  every  degree 
Sing  forth  the  brave  valours  of  Mary  Ambree. 


HE  following  version  is  reprinted  from  Hales  and  Fur- 
nivall's  edition  of  the  folio  MS.  vol.  i.  p.  516. 

Captaine  couragious,  whome  death  cold  daunte, 

beseeged  the  Citye  brauelye,  the  citty  of  Gaunt ! 

they  mustered  their  soliders  by  2  &  by  3  : 

&  the  fformost  in  Battele  was  Mary  Aumbree  !  4 

When  braue  Sir  lohn  Maior  was  slain e  in  that  fight, 

that  was  her  true  louer,  her  loy  &  delight, 

shee  swore  his  death  vnreuenged  shold  not  bee ; 

was  not  this  a  braue,  bonye  lasse,  Mary  Aumbree  ?  8 


236  MARY  A  MB  REE. 

The  death  of  her  tmeloue  shee  meant  to  requite 

with  fire  &  ffamine  [&]  sword  shining  bright, 

which  lately  was  slaine  most  villanouslye ; 

was  not  this  a  braue,  bonnye  Lasse,  Mary  Aumbree  ?       i* 

Shee  cladd  her  selfe  from  the  top  to  the  toe 

m  buffe  of  the  brauest  most  seemlye  to  show, 

&  a  faire  shirt  of  Male  slipped  on  shee ; 

was  not  this  a  braue,  bonye  lasse,  Mary  AumJ^ree?  i< 

A  helmett  of  proofe  shee  tooke  on  her  head, 

&  a  strong  arminge  sword  shee  wore  by  her  side  ; 

a  goodly  fayre  gauntlett  on  her  hand  put  shee ; 

was  not  this  a  braue,  bonye  lasse,  Mary  Aumbree  ?  ao 

Shee  tooke  her  sword  &  her  targett  in  hand, 

bidding  all  such  as  wold,  wayte  on  her  band. 

to  waite  on  her  person  there  came  1000*^*  3  : 

was  not  this  a  braue,  bonye  lasse,  Mary  Aumbree  ?  24 

*'  My  soldiers,"  shee  saith,  "  soe  valiant  and  bold, 

now  ffoUow  your  Captain  which  you  doe  beholde ; 

in  the  fight  formost  my  selfe  will  I  bee !" 

was  not  this  a  brave,  bonye  lasse,  Mary  Aumbree  ?  8 

Then  cryed  out  her  souldiers,  &  loude  the  did  say, 

*'  soe  well  thou  becomes  this  gallant  array, 

thy  hands  &  thy  weapons  doe  well  soe  agree, 

there  was  neuer  none  like  to  Mary  Aumbree  ! "  \^ 

Shee  cheared  her  good  souldiers  that  foughten  for  life, 
with  the  cominge  of  Ancyents,  with  drum  &  with  fife, 
that  braue  sonding  trumpetts  with  ingines  soe  free, 
att  last  th^  made  mention  of  Mary  Aumbree.  ^6 

"  Before  that  I  doe  see  the  worst  of  you  all 

come  in  the  danger  of  your  enemyes  thrall, 

this  hand  &  this  sword  shall  first  sett  him  free  ; " 

was  not  this  a  braue  bonye  lasse,  Mary  Aumbree  ?  40 

Shee  forward  went  on  in  Battaile  array, 

6  straight  shee  did  make  her  foes  flye  away; 

7  houres  in  sckirmish  continuf d  shee ; 

was  not  this  a  braue  bonye  lasse,  Mary  Aumbree  ?  h 

The  skyes  shee  did  fill  with  the  smoke  of  her  shott, 

in  her  enemies  bodyes  with  bulletts  soe  hott ; 

for  one  of  her  owne  men,  a  sckorc  killed  shee  ; 

was  not  this  a  brnue  bonve  lasse,  Mary  Aumbree?  48 


MARY  A  MERER.  237 

Then  did  her  gunner  spoyle  her  intent, 

pelletts  &  powder  away  had  he  sent : 

then  with  her  sword  shee  cutt  him  in  3, 

was  not  this  a  braue  bonye  lasse,  Mary  Aumbree  ?  5* 

Then  was  shee  caused  to  make  a  retyre, 

being  falsely  betrayd,  as  itt  doth  appeare ; 

then  to  saue  her  selfe  into  a  castle  went  shee ; 

was  not  this  a  braue  bonye  lasse,  Mary  Aumbree?  56 

Her  foes  the  besett  her  on  euerye  side, 

thinking  in  that  castle  shee  wold  not  abyde ; 

to  beate  downe  those  walls  they  all  did  agree ; 

was  not  that  a  braue  bonye  lasse,  Mary  Aumbree?  60 

She  tooke  her  sword  &  her  targett  in  hand, 

shee  came  to  the  walls,  and  vpon  them  did  stand, 

their  daring  their  Captaine  to  match  any  3, 

was  not  that  a  braue  bonye  lasse,  Mary  Aumbree  ?  64 

*'  Thou  English  Captain,  what  woldest  thou  giue 

to  ransome  thy  liffe  which  else  must  not  Hue  ? 

come  downe  quickly,  &  yeeld  thee  to  mee  ! " 

then  smiled  sweetlye  Mary  Aumbree ;  68 

"  Good  gentle  Captain,  what  thinke  you  by  mee, 

or  whom  in  my  likenesse  you  take  mee  to  bee  ?  " 

*'  a  knight,  sir,  of  England,  &  Captain  soe  free, 

that  I  meane  to  take  away  prisoner  with  me."  7a 

"  Good  gentle  Captain,  behold  in  your  sight 

2  brests  in  my  bosome,  &  therfore  no  knight ; 

noe  knight.  Sir,  of  England,  nor  Captain  soe  free, 

but  eue[n]e  a  pore  bony  Lasse,  Mary  Aumbree.'''  76 

**  If  thou  beest  a  woman  as  thou  dost  declare, 

that  hast  mangled  our  soliders,  &  made  them  soe  bare  j 

the  like  in  my  liffe  I  neuer  did  see ; 

therfore  He  honor  thee,  Mary  Aumbree."  8a 

**  Giue  I  be  a  woman,  as  well  thou  doest  see, 

Captain,  thou  gettst  noe  redemption  of  mee 

without  thou  wilt  fight  with  blowes  2  or  3." 

was  not  this  a  braue  bonye  lasse,  Mary  Aumbree  ?  84 

God  send  in  warrs,  such  euent  I  abide, 

god  send  such  a  solider  to  stand  by  my  side  ! 

then  safely  preserued  my  person  wilbe ; 

there  was  neuer  none  Hke  to  Mary  Aumbree  !]  88 


238  BRAVE    LORD 

XX. 

BRAVE    LORD   WILLOUGHBEY. 

EREGRINE  BERTIE,  lord  Willoughby  of  Eresby,  had, 
in  the  year  1586,  distinguished  himself  at  the  siege  of 
Zutphen,  in  the  Low  Countries.  He  was  the  year  after 
made  general  of  the  English  forces  in  the  United  Pro- 
vinces, in  room  of  the  earl  of  Leicester,  who  was  recalled.  This 
gave  him  an  opportunity  of  signalizing  his  courage  and  military 
skill  in  several  actions  against  the  Spaniards.  One  of  these, 
greatly  exaggerated  by  popular  report,  is  probably  the  subject  of 
this  old  ballad,  which,  on  account  of  its  flattering  encomiums  on 
English  valour,  hath  always  been  a  favourite  with  the  people. 

"  My  lord  Willoughbie  (says  a  contemporary  writer)  was  one  of 
the  queenes  best  swordsmen ;  ...  he  was  a  great  master  of  the  art 
military ...  I  have  heard  it  spoken,  that  had  he  not  slighted  the 
court,  but  applied  himself  to  the  queene,  he  might  have  enjoyed  a 
plentifull  portion  of  her  grace  \  and  it  was  his  saying,  and  it  did 
him  no  good,  that  he  was  none  of  the  Reptilia;  intimating,  that 
he  could  not  creepe  on  the  ground,  and  that  the  court  was  not 
his  element ;  for  indeed,  as  he  was  a  great  souldier,  so  he  was  of 
suitable  magnanimitie,  and  could  not  brooke  the  obsequiousnesse 
and  assiduitie  of  the  courte."     {Naunton.) 

Lord  Willoughbie  died  in  1601. — Both  Norris  and  Turner  were 
famous  among  the  military  men  of  that  age. 

The  subject  of  this  ballad  (which  is  printed  from  an  old  black- 
letter  copy,  with  some  conjectural  emendations,)  may  possibly 
receive  illustration  from  what  Chapman  says  in  the  Dedicat.  to  his 
version  of  Homer's  Frogs  and  Mice,  concerning  the  brave  and 
memorable  Retreat  of  Sir  John  Norris,  with  only  1000  men,  thro' 
the  whole  Spanish  army,  under  the  duke  of  Parma,  for  three  miles 
together. 

[Lord  Willoughby  was  the  son  of  Katherine,  daughter  of  Lord 
Willoughby  of  Eresby  and  widow  of  Charles  Brandon,  Duke  ot 
Suffolk,  and  of  her  second  husband,  Richard  Bertie.  They  were 
protestants  and  were  forced  to  fly  from  persecution  in  1553,  taking 
refuge  first  in  the  Low  Countries  and  afterwards  in  Poland.  They 
called  their  son  in  consequence  Peregrine,  a  name  that  has  ever 
since  remained  in  the  family.  Mr.  Hales  has  drawn  my  attention 
to  the  fact  that  Spenser,  when  in  Ireland,  named  one  of  his  sons 
Peregrine  for  a  similar  reason.  A  ballad  was  written  entitled  The 
Diichrss  of  Suffolk's  Calamily,  which  contains  these  lines ; 


WILLOUGHBEY,  239 

"  A  Sonne  she  had  in  Germanic, 

Peregrine  Bartue  cald  by  name, 
Surnamde  The  Good  Lord  Willobie, 

Of  courage  great  and  worthie  fame." 

Mr.  Chappell  informs  us  that  the  tune  of  the  following  ballad 
occurs  in  Lady  Neville's  Virginal  Book  (MS.  1591),  and  in  Robin- 
son's School  of  Music  (1603),  where  it  is  called  ''Lord  Willobie's 
Welcome  Home."] 


HE  fifteenth  day  of  July, 

With  ghstering  spear  and  shield, 
^^  A  famous  fight  in  Flanders 
^^-       Was  foughten  in  the  field  : 
The  most  couragious  officers  5 

Were  English  captains  three  ; 
But  the  bravest  man  in  battel 
Was  brave  lord  Willoughbey. 

The  next  was  captain  N orris, 

A  valiant  man  was  hee :  10 

The  other  captain  Turner, 

From  field  would  never  flee. 
With  fifteen  hundred  fighting  men, 

Alas  !  there  were  no  more, 
They  fought  with  fourteen  thousand  then,    1^ 

Upon  the  bloody  shore. 

Stand  to  it  noble  pikemen, 

And  look  you  round  about : 
And  shoot  you  right  you  bow-men. 

And  we  will  keep  them  out  :  *o 

You  musquet  and  calliver^  men, 

Do  you  prove  true  to  me, 
rie  be  the  formost  man  in  fight, 

Says  brave  lord  Willoughbey. 

[^  a  large  pistol  or  blunderbuss.] 


240  BRAVE   LORD 

And  then  the  bloody  enemy  %^ 

They  fiercely  did  assail, 
And  fought  it  out  most  furiously, 

Not  doubting  to  prevail ; 
The  wounded  men  on  both  sides  fell 

Most  pitious  for  to  see,  •     %o 

Yet  nothing  could  the  courage  quell 

Of  brave  lord  Willoughbey. 

For  seven  hours  to  all  mens  view 

This  fight  endured  sore. 
Until  our  men  so  feeble  grew  35 

That  they  could  fight  no  more ; 
And  then  upon  dead  horses 

Full  savourly  they  eat, 
And  drank  the  puddle  water, 

They  could  no  better  get.  40 

When  they  had  fed  so  freely, 

They  kneeled  on  the  ground, 
And  praised  God  devoutly 

For  the  favour  they  had  found  ; 
And  beating  up  their  colours,  4S 

The  fight  they  did  renew. 
And  turning  tow'rds  the  Spaniard, 

A  thousand  more  they  slew. 

The  sharp  steel-pointed  arrows, 

And  bullets  thick  did  fly  ;  50 

Then  did  our  valiant  soldiers 

Charge  on  most  furiously  ; 
Which  made  the  Spaniards  waver. 

They  thought  it  best  to  flee, 
They  fear  d  the  stout  behaviour  55 

Of  brave  lord  Willoughbey. 

Then  quoth  the  Spanish  general, 

Come  let  us  march  away, 
I  fear  we  shall  be  spoiled  all 

If  here  we  longer  stay  ;  ^» 


WILLOUGHBEY,  241 

For  yonder  comes  lord  Willoughbey 

With  courage  fierce  and  fell, 
He  will  not  give  one  inch  of  way 

For  all  the  devils  in  hell. 

And  then  the  fearful  enemy  65 

Was  quickly  put  to  flight, 
Our  men  persued  couragiously, 

And  caught  their  forces  quite ; 
But  at  last  they  gave  a  shout, 

Which  ecchoed  through  the  sky,  70 

God,  and  St.  George  for  England  ! 

The  conquerers  did  cry. 

This  news  was  brought  to  England 

With  all  the  speed  might  be, 
And  soon  our  gracious  queen  was  told  75 

Of  this  same  victory. 
O  this  is  brave  lord  Willoughbey, 

My  love  that  ever  won, 
Of  all  the  lords  of  honour 

'Tis  he  great  deeds  hath  done.  80 

To  the  souldiers  that  were  maimed. 

And  wounded  in  the  fray, 
The  queen  allowed  a  pension 

Of  fifteen  pence  a  day  ; 
And  from  all  costs  and  charges  85 

She  quit  and  set  them  free : 
And  this  she  did  all  for  the  sake 

Of  brave  lord  Willoughbey. 

Then  courage,  noble  Englishmen, 

And  never  be  dismaid  ;  90 

If  that  we  be  but  one  to  ten, 

We  will  not  be  afraid 
To  fight  with  foraign  enemies. 

And  set  our  nation  free. 
And  thus  I  end  the  bloody  bout  ^ 

Of  brave  lord  Willoughbey. 


242     VICTORIOUS   MEN  OF  EARTH. 

XXI. 

VICTORIOUS   MEN    OF   EARTH. 

HIS  little  moral  sonnet  hath  such  a  pointed  application 
to  the  heroes  of  the  foregoing  and  following  ballads, 
that  I  cannot  help  placing  it  here,  tho'  the  date  of  its 
composition  is  of  a  much  later  period.     It  is  extracted 

from  Cupid  and  Deaths  a  masque  by  J.  S.  {James  Shirley)  presented 

Mar,  26,  1653.    London  printed  1653,  A^to. 

[Dr.  Rimbault  informs  us  that  this  masque  was  represented  at 
the  Military  Ground  in  Leicester  Fields,  with  music  by  Matthew 
Locke  and  Dr.  Christopher  Gibbons.  (^Musical  Illustrations y 
p.  22.)] 


'ICTORIOUS  men  of  earth,  no  more 
Proclaim  how  wide  your  empires  are  ; 
Though  you  binde  in  every  shore, 
And  your  triumphs  reach  as  far 

As  night  or  day ;  5 

Yet  you  proud  monarchs  must  obey, 
And  mingle  with  forgotten  ashes,  when 
Death  calls  yee  to  the  croud  of  common  men. 

Devouring  famine,  plague,  and  war, 

Each  able  to  undo  mankind,  10 

Death's  servile  emissaries  are : 

Nor  to  these  alone  confin'd, 

He  hath  at  will 

More  quaint  and  subtle  wayes  to  kill ; 
A  smile  or  kiss,  as  he  will  use  the  art,  15 

Shall  have  the  cunning  skill  to  break  a  heart. 


THE    WINNING    OF   CALES.     243 

XXII. 
THE   WINNING  OF   CALES. 

'HE  subject  of  this  ballad  is  the  taking  of  the  city  of 
Cadiz,  (called  by  our  sailors  corruptly  Cales)  on  June 
I^^S  21,  1596,  in  a  descent  made  on  the  coast  of  Spain, 
under  the  command  of  the  Lord  Howard  admiral,  and 
the  earl  of  Essex  general. 

The  valour  of  Essex  was  not  more  distinguished  on  this  occa- 
sion than  his  generosity :  the  town  was  carried  sword  in  hand,  but 
he  stopt  the  slaughter  as  soon  as  possible,  and  treated  his  prisoners 
with  the  greatest  humanity,  and  even  affability  and  kindness.  The 
EngHsh  made  a  rich  plunder  in  the  city,  but  missed  of  a  much 
richer,  by  the  resolution  which  the  Duke  of  Medina,  the  Spanish 
admiral,  took,  of  setting  fire  to  the  ships,  in  order  to  prevent  their 
falling  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy  [see  v.  27].  It  was  computed, 
that  the  loss  which  the  Spaniards  sustained  from  this  enterprize, 
amounted  to  twenty  millions  of  ducats.     See  Hume's  Hist. 

The  Earl  of  Essex  knighted  on  this  occasion  not  fewer  than 
sixty  persons,  which  gave  rise  to  the  following  sarcasm : 

**  A  gentlem.an  of  Wales,  a  knight  of  Cales, 

And  a  laird  of  the  North  country ; 
But  a  yeoman  of  Kent  with  his  yearly  rent 

Will  buy  them  out  all  three." 

The  ballad  is  printed,  with  some  corrections,  from  the  Editor's 
folio  MS.  and  seems  to  have  been  composed  by  some  person,  who 
was  concerned  in  the  expedition.  Most  of  the  circumstances 
related  in  it  will  be  found  supported  by  history. 

[Philip  II.  was  meditating  the  dispatch  of  a  second  armada, 
but  before  he  could  set  his  schemes  in  motion  his  strongest  fortress 
was  razed  to  the  ground.  Macaulay  calls  this  ''  the  most  brilliant 
military  exploit  that  was  achieved  on  the  continent  by  English 
arms  during  the  long  interval  which  elapsed  between  the  battle  ot 
Agincourt  and  that  of  Blenheim."  No  wonder  then  that  the  English 
sang  with  enthusiasm  of  the  glories  of  their  success.  Raleigh 
and  Sir  Francis  Vere  were  among  the  leaders  under  Essex. 

It  will  be  seen  by  the  foot  notes  that  Percy  follows  his  MS. 
original  pretty  faithfully.  Child  prints  a  version  from  Deloney's 
Garland  of  Goodwill  as  reprinted  by  the  Percy  Society  (vol.  xxx. 
p.  113).  The  earliest  notice  of  the  tune  (the  new  Tantara)  to 
which  this  ballad  was  to  be  sung  is  in  the  year  1590.] 


244     THE    WINNING    OF   CALES, 


|ONG  the  proud  Spaniards  had  vaunted  to 
conquer  us, 
Threatning  our  country   with  fyer   and 
sword  ; 

Often  preparing  their  navy  most  sumptuous 
With  as  great  plenty  as  Spain  could  afford. 

Dub  a  dub,  dub  a  dub,  thus  strike  their  drums ; 
Tantara,  tantara,  the  Englishman  comes.  6. 

To  the  seas  presentlye  went  our  lord  admiral, 
With  knights  couragious  and  captains  full  good  ; 

The  brave  Earl  of  Essex,  a  prosperous  general, 
With  him  prepared  to  pass  the  salt  flood.  lo 

Dub  a  dub,  &c. 

At  Plymouth  speedilye,  took  they  ship  vallantlye, 

Braver  ships  never  were  seen  under  sayle, 
With  their  fair  colours  spread,  and  streamers  ore  their 
head, 
Now  bragging  Spaniards,  take  heed  of  your  tayle. 
Dub  a  dub,  &c.  is 

Unto  Cales  cunnlnglye,  came  we  most  speedilye, 
Where  the  kinges  navy  securelye  did  ryde ; 

Being  upon  their  backs,  piercing  their  butts  of  sacks,, 
Ere  any  Spaniards  our  coming  descryde.  aa 

Dub  a  dub,  &c. 

Great  was  the  crying,  the  running  and  ryding, 
Which  at  that  season  was  made  in  that  place ; 

The  beacons  were  fyred,  as  need  then  required ; 
To  hyde  their  great  treasure  they  had  little  space. 
Dub  a  dub,  8ic.  26- 


[Ver.  6.   tantara,  ra-ra,   MS.     V.   22.  the  before  running   not 
in  MS.] 


THE    WINNING    OF   CALES.     245 

There  you  might  see  their  ships,  how  they  were  fyred 
fast, 
And  how  their  men  drowned  themselves  in  the  sea ; 
There  might  you  hear  them  cry,  wayle  and  weep 
piteously, 
When  they  saw  no  shift  to  scape  thence  away.    30 
Dub  a  dub,  &c. 

The  great  St.  Phillip,  the  pryde  of  the  Spaniards, 
Was  burnt  to  the  bottom,  and  sunk  in  the  sea ; 

But  the  St.  Andrew,  and  eke  the  St.  Matthew, 
Wee  took  in  fight  manfullye  and  brought  awa3\  35 
Dub  a  dub,  &c. 

The  Earl  of  Essex  most  valiant  and  hardye, 

With  horsemen  and  footmen  march'd  up  to  the 
town ; 
The  Spanyards,  which  saw  them,  were  greatly 
alarmed, 
Did  fiy  for  their  savegard,  and  durst  not  come  down. 
Dub  a  dub,  &c.  41 

Now,  quoth  the  noble  Earl,  courage  my  soldiers  all, 
Fight  and  be  valiant,  the  spoil  you  shall  have ; 

And  be  well  rewarded  all  from  the  great  to  the  small ; 

But  looke  that  the  women  and  children  you  save. 

Dub  a  dub,  &c.  46 

The  Spaniards  at  that  sight,  thinking  it  vain  to  fight, 
Hung  upp  flags  of  truce  and  yielded  the  towne ; 

Wee  marched  in  presentlye,  decking  the  walls  on  hye, 
With  English  colours  which  purchas'd  renowne.  50 
Dub  a  dub,  &c. 


[Ver.  35.  brought  them  away,  MS.  V.  38.  marched  toward  the 
town.  V.  44.  all  not  in  MS.  V.  45.  no  the  in  MS.  V.  47. 
thought  in  vaine  twas  to  fight.  V.  4S  <ind  not  in  MS.  V.  50.  with 
'^ur  English. 1 


246     THE    WINNING    OF  CALES.  , 

Entering  the  houses  then,  of  the  most  richest  men, 
For  gold  and  treasure  we  searched  eche  day  ; 

In  some  places  we  did  find,  pyes  baking  left  behind, 
Meate  at  fire  rosting,  and  folkes  run  away.  55 

Dub  a  dub,  &c. 

Full  of  rich  merchandize,  every  shop  catch*d  our  eyes, 

Damasks  and  sattens  and  velvets  full  fayre : 
Which  soldiers  measur'd  out  by  the  length  of  their 
swords ; 
Of  all  commodities  eche  had  a  share.  6© 

Dub  a  dub,  &c. 

Thus  Cales  was  taken,  and  our  brave  general 

March'd  to  the  miarket-place,  where  he  did  stand : 

There  many  prisoners  fell  to  our  several  shares. 
Many  crav'd  m.ercye,  and  mercye  they  fannd.      6$ 
Dub  a  dub,  &c. 

When  our  brave  general  saw  they  delayed  all, 

And  would  not  ransome  their  towne  as  they  said. 
With  their  fair  wanscots,  their  presses  and  bedsteds, 
Their  joint-stools  and  tables  a  fire  we  made ;        70 
And  when  the  town  burned  all  in  a  flame, 
With  tara,  tantara,  away  wee  all  came. 


[Ver.  54.  baking  in  the  oven.  V.  55.  meate  att  the  fire  rosting 
&  ffolkes  ffled  away.  V.  57.  shop  wee  did  see.  V.  60.  each  one. 
V.  64.  prisoners  of  good  account  were  tooke.  V.  65.  they  found. 
V.  67.  delayed  time.    V.  70.  a  ffire  were  made.    V.  72.  away  wee 

came.] 


THE    SPANISH   LADY'S  LOVE.     247 

XXIII. 
THE   SPANISH    LADY^S   LOVE. 

^Aafa_sfe^j^IS  beautiful  old  ballad  most  probably  took  its  rise 
from  one  of  these  descents  made  on  the  Spanish  coasts 


in  the  time  of  queen  Elizabeth ;  and  in  all  likelihood 
from  that  which  is  celebrated  in  the  foregoing  ballad. 

It  was  a  tradition  in  the  West  of  England,  that  the  person 
admired  by  the  Spanish  lady  was  a  gentleman  of  the  Popham 
family  [Sir  John  Popham],  and  that  her  picture,  with  the  pearl 
necklace  mentioned  in  the  ballad,  was  not  many  years  ago  pre- 
served at  Littlecot,  near  Hungerford,  Wilts,  the  seat  of  that  re- 
spectable family. 

Another  tradition  hath  pointed  out  Sir  Richard  Levison,  of 
Trentham,  in  Staffordshire,  as  the  subject  of  this  ballad;  who 
married  Margaret  daughter  of  Charles  Earl  of  Nottingham ;  and 
was  eminently  distinguished  as  a  naval  officer  and  commander  in 
all  the  expeditions  against  the  Spaniards  in  the  latter  end  of 
Q.  Elizabeth's  reign,  particularly  in  that  to  Cadiz  in  1596,  when 
he  was  aged  27.  He  died  in  1605,  and  has  a  monument,  with 
his  Q^gy  in  brass,  in  Wolverhampton  church. 

It  is  printed  from  an  ancient  black-letter  copy,  corrected  in  part 
by  the  Editor's  folio  MS. 

[Sir  John  Popham  and  Sir  Richard  Levison  are  not  the  only 
candidates  for  the  honour  of  being  associated  with  the  Spanish 
Lady,  for  strong  claims  have  also  been  brought  forward  in  favour 
of  Sir  Urias  Legh  of  Adlington,  Cheshire,  and  of  Sir  John  Bolle  of 
Thorpe  Hall,  Lincolnshire.  A  descendant  of  the  latter  worthy 
wrote  a  letter  in  his  favour,  which  appeared  in  the  Times  of  May  i, 
1846,  and  from  which  the  following  particulars  are  extracted: — 
"  In  Illingworth's  Topographical  Account  of  Scavipton,  with  Anec- 
dotes of  the  fainily  of  Bolles,  it  is  stated,  'the  portrait  of  Sir  John, 
drawn  in  1596,  at  the  age  of  thirty-six  years,  having  on  him  the 
gold  chain  given  him  by  the  Spanish  Lady,  &c.,  is  still  in  the  pos- 
session of  Captain  Birch.'  That  portrait  is  now  in  the  possession 
of  Captain  Birch's  successor,  Thomas  Bosvile  Bosvile,  Esq.,  of 
Ravensfield  Park,  Yorkshire."  The  writer  of  the  letter  signs 
himself  Charles  Lee,  and  dates  from  Coldrey,  Hants.  He  adds 
another  extract  from  Illingworth's  Scampton,  which  is  as  fol- 
lows :  "  On  Sir  John  Bolle's  departure  from  Cadiz,  the  Spanish 
Lady  sent  as  presents  to  his  wife,  a  profusion  of  jewels,  and  other 


248  THE    SPANISH 

valuables,  amongst  which  was  her  portrait,  drawn  in  green,  plate, 
money,  and  other  treasure.   Some  articles  are  still  in  the  possession  '^ 

of  the  family,  though  her  picture  was  unfortunately  and  by  acci- 
dent, disposed  of  about  half  a  century  since.  This  portrait  being 
drawn  in  green,  gave  occasion  to  her  being  called  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Thorpe  Hall,  the  Green  Lady,  where  to  this  day 
there  is  a  traditionary  superstition  among  the  vulgar  that  Thorpe 
Hall  was  haunted  by  the  Green  Lady,  who  used  nightly  to  take 
^er  seat  in  a  particular  tree  near  the  mansion." 

Mr.  Chappell  points  out  that  this  ballad  is  quoted  in  Cupid's 
Whirligig,  1616,  and  parodied  in  Rowley's  A  Match  at  Midnight, 
1633.     It  is  also  quoted  in  Mrs.  Behn's  Comedy,  The  Rovers,  or 
the  baitished  Cavaliers,  and  in  Richard  Brome's  Northern  Lasse. 

Shenstone  was  not  satisfied  with  the  beautiful  simplicity  of  this 
charming  ballad,  and  attempted  in  his  Moral  Idle  of  Love  and 
Honour  to  place  it  before  his  readers  "  in  less  grovelling  accents 
than  the  simple  guise  of  ancient  record."  The  mode  he  adopted 
was  to  spin  it  out  by  the  frequent  introduction  of  Ah  me  and 
V/j-  true,  and  addresses  to  the  *'  generous  maid,"  Elvira,  Iberia,  &c. 
Wordsworth  acted  far  differently,  when  he  founded  his  exquisite 
Armenian  Ladfs  Love  upon  this  ballad  : 

"  You  have  heard  of  a  Spanish  Lady, 
How  she  wooed  an  English  man ; 
Hear  now  ot  a  fair  Armenian, 
Daughter  of  the  proud  Soldan." 

The  copy  in  the  folio  MS.  (ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall,  vol.  iii. 
P-  393)  begins  with  verse  2iZi  ^^  early  part  having  been  torn 
out.] 


ILL  you  hear  a  Spanish  lady. 

How  she  wooed  an  English  man  ? 
Garments  gay  as  rich  as  may  be 
Decked  with  jewels  she  had  on. 
Of  a  comely  countenance  and  grace  was  she,  c 

And  by  birth  and  parentage  of  high  degree. 

As  his  prisoner  there  he  kept  her, 

In  his  hands  her  life  did  lye : 
Cupid's  bands  did  tye  them  faster 

By  the  liking  of  an  eye.  10 


LADY'S   LOVE,  249 

In  his  courteous  company  was  all  her  joy, 
To  favour  him  in  any  thing  she  was  not  coy. 

But  at  last  there  came  commandment 

For  to  set  the  ladies  free, 
With  their  jewels  still  adorned,  15 

None  to  do  them  injury. 
Then  said  this  lady  mild,  Full  woe  is  me ; 
O  let  me  still  sustain  this  kind  captivity ! 

Gallant  captain,  shew  some  pity 

To  a  ladye  in  distresse  ;  ao 

Leave  me  not  within  this  city, 

For  to  dye  in  heavinesse : 
Thou  hast  set  this  present  day  my  body  free, 
But  my  heart  in  prison  still  remains  with  thee. 

**  How  should  St  thou,  fair  lady,  love  me,  25 

Whom  thou  knowst  thy  country's  foe  ? 

Thy  fair  wordes  make  me  suspect  thee : 
Serpents  lie  where  flowers  grow." 

All  the  harm  I  wishe  to  thee,  most  courteous  knight, 

God  grant  the  same  upon  my  head  may  fully  light.  30 

Blessed  be  the  time  and  season. 

That  you  came  on  Spanish  ground ; 
If  our  foes  you  may  be  termed, 

Gentle  foes  we  have  you  found  : 
With  our  city,  you  have  won  our  hearts  eche  one,  35 
Then  to  your  country  bear  away,  that  is  your  owne. 

**  Rest  you  still,  most  gallant  lady ; 

Rest  you  still,  and  weep  no  more ; 
Of  fair  lovers  there  is  plenty, 

Spain  doth  yield  a  wonderous  store."  40 

Spaniards  fraught  with  jealousy  we  often  find. 
But  Englishmen  through  all  the  world  are  counted 
kind. 


250  THE    SPANISH 

Leave  me  not  unto  a  Spaniard, 

You  alone  enjoy  my  heart ; 
I  am  lovely,  young,  and  tender,  45 

Love  is  likewise  my  desert : 
Still  to  serve  thee  day  and  night  my  mind  is  prest ; 
The  wife  of  every  Englishman  is  counted  blest. 

"It  wold  be  a  shame,  fair  lady, 

For  to  bear  a  woman  hence ;  5® 

English  soldiers  never  carry 

Any  such  without  offence." 
ril  quickly  change  myself,  if  it  be  so, 
And  like  a  page  He  follow  thee,  where'er  thou  go. 

"  I  have  neither  gold  nor  silver  S5 

To  maintain  thee  in  this  case, 
And  to  travel  is  great  charges, 

As  you  know  in  every  place." 
My  chains  and  jewels  every  one  shal  be  thy  own, 
And  eke  five  hundred*  pounds  in  gold  that  lies  un- 
known. 6a 

"  On  the  seas  are  many  dangers, 

Many  storms  do  there  arise,  | 

Which  wil  be  to  ladies  dreadful,  \ 

And  force  tears  from  watery  eyes."  j 

Well  in  troth  I  shall  endure  extremity,  65 

For  I  could  find  in  heart  to  lose  my  life  for  thee.  . 

"  Courteous  ladye,  leave  this  fancy,  • 

Here  comes  all  that  breeds  the  strife; 
I  in  England  have  already 

A  sweet  woman  to  my  wife  :  70 

I  will  not  falsify  my  vow  for  gold  nor  gain, 
Nor  yet  for  all  the  fairest  dames  that  live  in  Spain.'' 

♦  So  the  MS.,  10,000/.  PC, 

[Ver.  54.  whersoere  thou  go.]     V.  65.  Well  in  worth  [I  will], 
MS.     [V.  66.  find  my  heart.     V.  68.  that  breakes.] 


LADY'S   LOVE.  251 

0  how  happy  is  that  woman 
That  enjoys  so  true  a  friend! 

Many  happy  days  God  send  her:  7; 

Of  my  suit  I  make  an  end : 
On  my  knees  I  pardon  crave  for  my  offence, 
Which  did  from  love  and  true  affection  first  commence. 

Commend  me  to  thy  lovely  lady, 

Bear  to  her  this  chain  of  gold  ;  So 

And  these  bracelets  for  a  token  ; 

Grieving  that  I  was  so  bold  : 
All  my  jewels  in  like  sort  take  thou  with  thee, 
For  they  are  fitting  for  thy  wife,  but  not  for  me. 

1  will  spend  my  days  in  prayer,  85 

Love  and  all  her  laws*  defye ; 
In  a  nunnery  will  I  shroud  mee 

Far  from  any  companye  : 
But  ere  my  prayers  have  an  end,  be  sure  of  this, 
To  pray  for  thee  and  for  thy  love  I  will  not  miss.   90 

Thus  farewell,  most  gallant  captain  I 

Farewell  too  my  heart's  content ! 
Count  not  Spanish  ladies  wanton. 

Though  to  thee  my  love  was  bent : 
Joy  and  true  prosperity  goe  still  with  thee !  95 

**  The  like  fall  ever  to  thy  share,  most  fair  ladie." 

*  So  the  folio  MS.     Other  editions  read  Ms  laws. 

[Ver.  75.  many  dayes  of  joy  god  send  you.  V.  76.  He  make. 
V.  77.  upoE  my  knees  I  pardon  crave  for  this  offence.  V.  78. 
which  love  an^  true  affectyon  did  ffirst  commence.  V.  80.  a 
chaine.  V.  83.  take  with  thee.  V.  84.  these  are  .  .  .  and  not  for 
me.    V.  88.  from  other.     V.  92-  and  ffarwell  my.     V.  95.  be  still] 


252     ARGENTILE    AND    CURAN. 

XXIV. 

ARGENTILE   AND   CURAN, 

'S  extracted  from  an  ancient  historical  poem  in  XIIL 
'^oo\s/m.i\i\Qdf  Albion's  England,  hy  William  Warner: 
"An  author  (says  a  former  editor,)  only  unhappy  in  the 
choice  of  his  subject,  and  measure  of  his  verse.  His 
poem  is  an  epitome  of  the  British  history,  and  written  with  great 
learning,  sense,  and  spirit.  In  some  places  fine  to  an  extraordinary 
degree,  as  I  think  will  eminently  appear  in  the  ensuing  episode 
(of  Argentile  and  Curan).  A  tale  full  of  beautiful  incidents  in 
the  romantic  taste,  extremely  affecting,  rich  in  ornament,  wonder- 
fully various  in  style ;  and  in  short,  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
pastorals  I  ever  met  with."  {Muses  Library,  1738,  8vo.)  To  his 
merit  nothing  can  be  objected  unless  perhaps  an  affected  quaint- 
ness  in  some  of  his  expressions,  and  an  indelicacy  in  some  of  his 
pastoral  images. 

Warner  is  said,  by  A.  Wood,*  to  have  been  a  Warwickshi]-e 
man,  and  to  have  been  educated  in  Oxford,  at  Magdalene-hall : 
as  also  in  the  latter  part  of  his  life  to  have  been  retained  in  the 
service  of  Henry  Gary  Lord  Hunsdon,  to  whom  he  dedicates  his 
poem.  However  that  may  have  been,  new  light  is  thrown  upon 
his  history,  and  the  time  and  manner  of  his  death  are  now  ascer- 
tained, by  the  following  extract  from  the  parish  register  book  of 
Amwell,  in  Hertfordshire ;  which  was  obligingly  communicated 
to  the  Editor  by  Mr.  Hoole,  the  very  ingenious  translator  of 
Tasso,  &c. 

(1608 — 1609.)  "  Master  William  Warner,  a  man  of  good  yeares 
and  of  honest  reputation ;  by  his  profession  an  Atturnye  of  the 
Common  Pleas ;  author  of  Albions  England,  diynge  suddenly  in 
the  night  in  his  bedde,  without  any  former  complaynt  or  sicknesse, 
on  thursday  night  beeinge  the  9th  daye  of  March  ;  was  buried  the 
satturday  following,  and  lyeth  in  the  church  at  the  corner  under 
the  stone  of  Walter  Ffader."     Signed  Tho.  Hassall  Vicarius. 

Though  now  Warner  is  so  seldom  mentioned,  his  contemporaries 
ranked  him  on  a  level  with  Spenser,  and  called  them  the  Homer 
and  Virgil  of  their  age.f  But  Warner  rather  resembled  Ovid, 
whose  Metamorphoses  he  seems  to  have  taken  for  his  model,  having 
deduced  a  perpetual  poem  from  the  deluge  down  to  tne  asra  of 

♦  Athen.  Oxon.  t  Ibid, 


ARGENTILE    AND    CUR  AN.     253 

Elizabeth,  full  of  lively  digressions  and  entertaining  episodes. 
And  though  he  is  sometimes  harsh,  affected,  and  obscure,  he 
often  displays  a  most  charming  and  pathetic  simplicity :  as  where 
he  describes  Eleanor's  harsh  treatment  of  Rosamond  : 

"  With  that  she  dasht  her  on  the  lippes 

So  dyed  double  red  : 
Hard  was  the  heart  that  gave  the  blow, 

Soft  were  those  lippes  that  bled." 

The  edition  of  Albion's  England  here  followed  was  printed  in 
4to.  1602;  said  in  the  title-page  to  have  been  "first  penned  and 
published  by  William  Warner,  and  now  revised  and  newly  enlarged 
by  the  same  author."  The  story  of  A?'g€7itile  and  Citran  is  I  be- 
lieve the  poet's  own  invention ;  it  is  not  mentioned  in  any  of  our 
chronicles.  It  was  however  so  much  admired,  that  not  many 
years  after  he  published  it,  came  out  a  larger  poem  on  the  same 
subject  in  stanzas  of  six  lines,  intitled,  27ie  most  pleasant  and  de- 
lightful historic  of  Curan  a  prince  of  Danske^  and  the  fayre princesse 
Argentile,  daughter  and  heyi'e  to  Adelbright,  sometime  kifig  of  North- 
umberland, &^c.  /^j/ WiUiam  Webster,  Lo7ido7i,  ^617,  in  8  sheets  4to, 
An  indifferent  paraphrase  of  the  following  poem. — This  episode  of 
Warner's  has  also  been  altered  into  the  common  ballad,  of  the  two 
young  PrijTces  on  Salisbury  Plain,  which  is  chiefly  composed  of 
Warner's  lines,  with  a  few  contractions  and  interpolations,  but  all 
greatly  for  the  worse.  See  the  collection  of  Hist.  Ballads,  1727, 
3  vols.  i2mo. 

[Percy  had  already  in  the  first  volume  quoted  from  Warner's 
poem  the  story  of  the  Patie/it  Countess.'] 


^^^^^^^HE  Bruton*s  'being*  departed  hence  seaven 

kingdoms  here  begonne, 


fj  Where    diversly    in    divers    broyles    the 
Saxons  lost  and  wonne. 
King  Edel  and  king  Adelbright  in  Diria  jointly  raigne ; 
In  loyal  concorde  during  life  these  kingly  friends 

remaine. 
When  Adelbright  should  leave  his  life,  to  Edel  thus 
he  sayes ;  5 

By  those  same  bondes  of  happie  love,  that  held  us 
friends  alwaies  ; 


254    ARGENTILE    AND    CURAN, 

By  our  by-parted  crowne,  of  which  the  moyetle  is 

mine  ; 
By  God,  to  whom  my  soule  must  passe,  and  so  in  time 

may  thine ; 
I  pray  thee,  nay  I  conjure  thee,  to  nourish,  as  thine 

owne, 
Thy  niece,  my  daughter  Argentile,  till  she  to  age  be 

growne ;  lo 

And  then,  as  thou  receivest  it,  resigne  to  her  my 

throne. 
A  promise  had  for  his  bequest,  the  testator  he  dies  ; 
But  all  that  Edel  undertooke,  he  afterwards  denies. 
Yet  well  he  '  fosters  for '  a  time  the  damsell  that  was 

growne 
The  fairest  lady  under  heaven ;  whose  beautie  being 

knowne,  15 

A  many  princes  seeke  her  love ;  but  none  might  her 

obtaine ; 
For  grippelP  Edel  to  himselfe  her  kingdome  sought 

to  gaine ; 
And  for  that  cause  from  sight  of  such  he  did  his  ward 

restraine. 
By  chance  one  Curan,  sonne  unto  a  prince  in  Danske,'* 

did  see 
The  maid,  with  whom  he  fell  in  love,  as  much  as  man 

might  bee.  20 

Unhappie  youth,  what  should  he  doe  ?  his  saint  was 

kept  in  mewe  f 
Nor  he,  nor  any  noble-man  admitted  to  her  vewe. 
One  while  in  melancholy  fits  he  pines  himselfe  awayc  ; 
Anon  he  thought  by  force  of  arms  to  win  her  if  he 

maye : 
And  still  against   the   kings   restraint  did  secretly 

invay.  25 


['  gripin;^  or  miserly.  ^  Denmark.         ^  in  confmement.J 


ARGENTILE    AND    CURAN.     255 

At  length  the  high  controller  Love,  whom  none  may 

disobay, 
Imbased  him  from  lordlines  into  a  kitchen  drudge, 
That  so  at  least  of  life  or  death  she  might  become 

his  judge. 
Accesse  so  had  to  see  and  speake,  he  did  his  love 

bewray, 
And  tells  his  birth  :  her  answer  was,  she  husbandles 

would  stay.  30 

Meane  while  the  king  did  beate  his  braines,  his  booty 

to  atchieve, 
Nor  caring  what  became  of  her,  so  he  by  her  might 

thrive  ; 
At  last  his  resolution  was  some  pessant  should  her 

v/ive. 
And  (which  was  working  to  his  wish)  he  did  observe 

with  joye 
How  Curan,  whom  he  thought  a  drudge,  scapt  many 

an  amorous  toye.*  V5 

The  king,  perceiving  such  his  veine,  promotes  his 

vassal  still, 
Lest  that  the  basenesse  of  the  man  should  lett,^  per- 
haps, his  will. 
Assured  therefore  of  his  love,  but  not  suspecting  who 
The  lover  was,  the  king  himselfe  in  his  behalf  did 

woe. 
The  lady  resolute  from  love,  unkindly  takes  that  he  40 
Should  barre  the  noble,  and  unto  so  base  a  match 

agree : 
And  therefore  shifting  out  of  doores,  departed  thence 

by  stealth ; 
Preferring  povertie  before  a  dangerous  life  in  wealth. 


*  The  construction  is,  "  How  that  many  an  amorous  toy,  or 
foolery  of  love,  'scaped  Curan;"  i.e.  escaped  from  him,  being  off 
his  guard. 

\}  hinder.] 


256     ARGENTILE    AND    CUR  AN. 

When  Curan  heard  of  her  escape,  the  anguish  in  his 

hart 
Was  more  than  much,  and  after  her  from  court  he 

did  depart ;  45 

Forgetfull  of  himselfe,  his  birth,  his  country,  friends, 

and  all, 
And  only  minding  (whom  he  mist)  the  foundresse  of 

his  thrall. 
Nor  meanes  he  after  to  frequent  or  court,  or  stately 

townes. 
But  solitarily  to  live  amongst  the  country  grownes/ 
A  brace  of  years  he  lived  thus,  well  pleased  so  to 

live,        ^  50 

And  shepherd-like  to  feed  a  flocke  himselfe  did  wholly 

So  wasting,  love,  by  worke,  and  want,  grew  almost  to 

the  waine  : 
But  then  began  a  second  love,  the  worser  of  the  twaine. 
A  country  wench,  a  neatherds  maid,  where  Curan  kept 

his  sheepe. 
Did  feed  her  drove  :  and  now  on  her  was  all  the 

shepherds  keepe.  55 

He  borrowed  on  the  working  dales  his  holy  russets  oft, 
And  of  the  bacon's  fat,  to  make  his  startops'^  blacke 

and  soft. 
And  least  his  tarbox^  should  offend,  he  left  it  at  the 

folde  : 
Sweete  growte,*  or  whig,^  his  bottle  had,  as  much  as 

it  might  holde. 
A  sheeve^  of  bread  as  browne  as  nut,  and  cheese  as 

white  as  snow,  6g 


Ver.  56.  i.e.  holy-day  russets  [or  best  clothes.] 

\}  grounds.  ^  buskins  or  half  boots. 

^  used  for  anointing  sores  in  sheep,  &c.  *  small  beer. 

*  whey  or  buttermilk.  ^  slice.] 


ARGENTTLE    AND    CURAN,     257 

And  wildings/  or  the  seasons  fruit  he  did  in  scrip 

bestow, 
And  whilst  his  py-bald  curre  did  sleepe,  and  sheep- 

hooke  lay  him  by, 
On  hollow  quilles  of  oten  straw  he  piped  melody 
But  when  he  spyed  her  his  saint,  he  wip'd  his  greasie 

shooes, 
And  clear'd  the  drivell  from  his  beard,  and  thus  the 

shepheard  wooes.  65 

"  I  have,  sweet  wench,  a  peece  of  cheese,  as  good  as 

tooth  may  chawe, 
And  bread  and  wildings  souling^  well,  (and  there- 
withal! did  drawe 
His  lardrie)  and  in  *  yeaning '  see  yon  crumpling^  ewe, 

quoth  he, 
Did  twinne  this  fall,  and  twin  shouldst  thou,  if  I  might 

tup"^  with  thee. 
Thou  art  too  elvish,  faith  thou  art,  too  elvish  and  too 

coy :  70 

Am  I,  I  pray  thee,  beggarly,  that  such  a  flock  enjoye  ? 
I  wis  I  am  not :  yet  that  thou  doest  hold  me  in  dis- 

daine 
Is  brimme'  abroad,  and  made  a  gybe  to  all  that  keepe 

this  plaine. 
There  be  as  quaint^  (at  least  that  thinke  themselves 

as  quaint)  that  crave 
The  match,  that  thou,  I  wot  not  why,  maist,  but  mis- 

lik'st  to  have.  -js 

How  wouldst  thou  match  ?  (for  well  I  wot,  thou  art  a 

female)  I, 
Her  know  not  here  that  willingly  with  maiden-head 

would  die. 


"Ver.  68.    Eating.  PCC.      V.  77.    Her  know  I  not  ber  that. 
1602. 

[^  crab  apples.  ^  victualJiiig.  ^  crooked  rjorned. 

*  ram.  ^  public.  ^  nice  or  jAiident.] 

2  S 


258     ARGENTILE    AND    CURAN. 

The  plowmans  labour  hath  no  end,  and  he  a  churle 

will  prove  : 
The  craftsman  hath  more  worke  in  hand  then  fitteth 

unto  love : 
The  merchant,  traffiquing  abroad,  suspects  his  wife  at 

home :  80 

A  youth  will  play  the  wanton  ;  and  an  old  man  prove 

a  mome.^ 
Then  chuse  a  shepheard  :  with  the  sun  he  doth  his 

flocke  unfold, 
And  all  the  day  on  hill  or  plaine  he  merrie  chat  can 

hold  ; 
And  with  the  sun  doth  folde  againe ;  then  jogging 

home  betime, 
He  turncs  a  crab,  or  turnes  a  round,  or  sings  some 

merry  ryme.  85 

Nor  lacks  he  gleeful  tales,  whilst  round  the  nut-brown 

bowl  doth  trot ; 
And  sitteth  singing  care  away,  till  he  to  bed  be  got : 
Theare  sleepes  he  soundly  all  the  night,  forgetting 

morrow-cares : 
Nor  feares  he  blasting  of  his  corne,  nor  uttering  of 

his  wares ; 
Or  storms  by  seas,  or  stirres  on  land,  or  cracke  of 

credit  lost ;  90 

Not  spending  franklier  than  his  flocke,  shall  still  de- 
fray the  cost. 
Well  wot   I,  sooth  they  say,  that  say  more  quiet 

nights  and  dales 
The  shepheard  sleeps   and  wakes,  than  he  whose 

cattel  he  doth  graize. 
Beleeve  me,  lasse,  a  king  is  but  a  man,  and  so  am  I  : 


Vcr.  S5.  i.e.  roasts  a  crab,  or  apple.      V.  86.  to  tell,  whilst 
round  the  bole  doth  trot.     Ed.  1597. 

r'-  blockhead.] 


ARGENTILE    AND    CUR  AN,     259 

Content  is  worth  a  monarchie,  and  mischiefs  hit  the 
hie;  ^  ^  .  ^^ 

As  late  it  did  a  king  and  his  not  dwelHng  far  from 
hence, 

Who  left  a  daughter,  save  thyselfe,  for  fair  a  match- 
less wench." — 

Here  did  he  pause,  as  if  his  tongue  had  done  his 
heart  offence. 

The  neatresse,^  longing  for  the  rest,  did  ^ggQ  him  on 
to  tell 

How  faire  she  was,  and  who  she  was.  "She  bore, 
quoth  he,  the  bell  100 

For  beautie  :    though  I  clownish  am,  I  know  what 

beautie  is  ; 

Or  did  I  not,  at  seeing  thee,  I  senceles  were  to  mis. 
*  *  *  H« 

Her  stature  comely,  tall ;  her  gate  well  graced  ;  and 

her  wit 
To  marvell  at,  not  meddle  with,  as  matchless  I  omit. 
A   globe-like   head,    a   gold-like   haire,   a   forehead 

smooth,  and  hie,  105 

An  even  nose  ;  on  either  side  did  shine  a  grayish  eie  : 
Two  rosle  cheeks,  round  ruddy  lips,  white  just-set 

teeth  within  ; 
A  mouth  in  meane  ;"^  and  underneathe  a  round  and 

dimpled  chin. 
Her  snowie  necke,  with  blewish  velnes,  stood  bolt 

upright  upon 
Her  portly  shoulders :    beating  balles    her   veined 

breasts,  anon  tto 

Adde  more  to  beautie.     Wand-like  was  her  middle 

falling  still, 
And  rising  whereas  women  rise  :  *  *  ♦  —  imagnie 

nothing  ill. 


\}  female  keeper  of  herds.  *  middle  sized.] 


26o     ARGENTILE    AND    CURAN, 

And  more,  her  long,  and  limber  amies  had  white  and 

azure  wrists ; 
And  slender  fingers  aunswere  to  her  smooth  and  lillie 

fists. 
A  legge  in  print,  a  pretie  foot ;  conjecture  of  the  rest : 
For  amorous  eies,  observing  forme,  think  parts  ob- 
scured best.  ii6 
With  these,  O  raretie !  with  these  her  tong  of  speech 

was  spare ; 
But  speaking,  Venus  seem'd  to  speake,  the  balle  from 

Ide  to  bear. 
With  Phoebe,  Juno,  and  with  both  herselfe  contends 

in  face ; 
Wheare  equall  mixture  did  not  want  of  milde  and 

stately  grace.  120 

Her  smiles  were  sober,  and  her  lookes  were  chearefull 

unto  all : 
Even  such  as  neither  wanton  seeme,  nor  waiward ;. 

mell,^  nor  gall. 
A  quiet  minde,  a  patient  moode,  and  not  disdaining 

any ;  ^ 

Not  gybing,  gadding,  gawdy :  and  sweete  faculties 

•      had  many. 
A  nimph,  no  tong,  no  heart,  no  eie,  might  praise, 

might  wish,  might  see  ;  125 

For  life,  for  love,  for  forme ;  more  good,  more  worth,. 

more  faire  than  shee. 
Yea  such  an  one,  as  such  was  none,  save  only  she  was 

such  : 
Of  Argentile  to  say  the  most,  were  to  be  silent  much." 
I    knew  the  lady  very  well,  but  worthies  of  such 

praise, 
The  neatresse  said  :  and  muse  I  do,  a  shepheard  thus 

should  blaze  130- 


[^  honey.] 


ARGENTILE   AND    CUR  AN,      161 

The  *  coate'  of  beautie*.   Credit  me,  thy  latter  speech 

bewrales 
Thy  clownish  shape  a  coined  shew.     But  wherefore 

dost  thou  weepe  ? 
The  shepheard  wept,  and  she  was  woe,  and  both 

doe  silence  keepe. 
''  In  troth,  quoth  he,  I  am  not  such,  as  seeming  1 

professe : 
But  then  for  her,  and  now  for  thee,  I  from  myselfe 

digresse.  135 

Her  loved  I  (wretch  that  I  am  a  recreant  to  be) 
I  loved  her,  that  hated  love,  but  now  I  die  for  thee. 
At  Kirkland  is  my  fathers  court,  and  Curan  is  my 

name, 
In  Edels  court  sometimes  in  pompe,  till  love  coun- 

trould  the  same  : 
But  now — what   now  ? — deare  heart,  how  now  ? 

what  allest  thou  to  weepe  ?  "  140 

The  damsell  wept,  and  he  was  woe,  and  both  did 

silence  keepe. 
I  graunt,  quoth  she,  it  was  too  much  that  you  did  love 

so  much : 
But  whom  your  former  could  not  move,  your  second 

love  doth  touch. 
Thy  twice-beloved  argentile  submitteth  her  to  thee, 
And  for  thy  double  love  presents  herself  a  single  fee, 
In  passion  not  in  person  chang  d,  and  I,  my  lord,  am 

she.  146 

They  sweetly  surfeiting  in  joy,  and  silent  for  a  space. 
When  as  the  extasie  had  end,  did  tenderly  imbrace  ; 
And  for  their  wedding,  and  their  wish  got  fitting  time 

and  place. 
Not  England  (for  of  Hengist  then  was  named  so  this 

land)  150 


*  i.e.  emblazon  beauty's  coat.     Ed.    1597,   1602,    16 12,   read 
Coote. 


562     ARGENTILE    AND    CUR  AN. 

Then  Curan  had  an  hardier  knight ;  his  force  could 

none  withstand  : 
Whose  sheep-hooke  laid  apart,  he  then  had  higher 

things  in  hand. 
First,  making  knowne  his  lawfull  claime  in  Argentile 

her  right, 
He  warr  d  in  Diria*  and  he  wonne  Bernicia*  too  in 

fight: 
And  so  from  trecherous  Edel  tooke  at  once  his  life 

and  crowne,  155 

And  of  Northumberland  was  king,  long  raigning  in 

renowne.f 

*  *  During  the  Saxon  heptarchy,  the  kingdom  of  Northumber- 
land (consisting  of  6  northern  counties,  besides  part  of  Scotland) 
was  for  a  long  time  divided  into  two  lesser  sovereignties,  viz.  Deira 
(called  here  Diria)  which  contained  the  southern  parts,  and  Ber- 
nicia,  comprehending  those  which  lay  north. 


XXV. 
CORIN'S   FATE. 

JNLY  the  three  first  stanzas  of  this  song  are  ancient ; 
these  are  extracted  from  a  small  quarto  MS.  in  the 
Editor's  possession,  written  in  the  time  of  Q.  Elizabeth. 
As  they  seemed  to  want  application,  this  has  been  at- 
tempted by  a  modern  hand. 


ORIN,  most  unhappie  swaine. 

Whither  wilt  thou  drive  thy  flocke  ? 
Little  foode  is  on  the  plaine  ; 
Full  of  danger  is  the  rocke  : 


[f  This  poem  was  subdivided  into  stanzas  by  Percy,  and  is  so 
printed  in  previous  editions  of  the  Reliques.'] 


CO/^/N'S    FATE. 

Wolfes  and  beares  doe  kepe  the  woodes  ; 

Forests  tangled  are  with  brakes  : 
Meadowes  subject  are  to  floodes  ; 

Moores  are  full  of  miry  lakes. 

Yet  to  shun  all  plaine,  and  hill, 

Forest,  moore,  and  meadow-ground. 

Hunger  will  as  surely  kill  : 

How  may  then  reliefe  be  found  ? 

[Such  is  hapless  Corins  fate : 

Since  my  waywarde  love  begunne, 

E quail  doubts  begett  debate 

What  to  seeke,  and  what  to  shuniic. 

Spare  to  speke,  and  spare  to  speed  ; 

Yet  to  speke  will  move  disdaine  : 
I  f  I  see  her  not  I  bleed, 

Yet  her  sight  augments  my  paine. 

What  may  then  poor  Corin  doe  ? 

Tell  me,  shepherdes,  quicklye  tell  ; 
For  to  linger  thus  in  woe 

Is  the  lover's  sharpest  hell.] 


26 


XXVI. 


JANE    SHORE. 

HOUGH  so  many  vulgar  errors  have  prevailed  con- 
cerning this  celebrated  courtezan,  no  character  in  his- 
tory has  been  more  perfectly  handed  down  to  us.  We 
have  her  portrait  drawn  by  two  masterly  pens  ;  the 
one  has  delineated  the  features  of  her  person,  the  other  those 
of  her  character  and  story.  Sir  Thomas  More  drew  from  the 
life,  and  Drayton  has  copied  an  original  picture  of  her.  The 
reader  will  pardon  the  length  of  the  quotations,  as  they  serve  to 


264  JANE    SHORE. 

correct  many  popular  mistakes  relating  to  her  catastrophe.  The 
first  is  from  Sir  Thomas  More's  Histojy  of  Richard  III.  written  in 
15 13,  about  thirty  years  after  the  death  of  Edw.  IV. 

*'  Now  then  by  and  by,  as  it  wer  for  anger,  not  for  covetise,  the 
protector  sent  into  the  house  of  Shores  wife  (for  her  husband 
dwelled  not  with  her)  and  spoiled  her  of  al  that  ever  she  had, 
(above  the  value  of  2  or  3  thousand  marks)  and  sent  her  body  to 
prison.  And  when  he  had  a  while  laide  unto  her,  for  the  maner 
sake,  that  she  went  about  to  bewitch  him,  and  that  she  was  of 
counsel  with  the  lord  chamberlein  to  destroy  him :  in  conclusion 
when  that  no  colour  could  fasten  upon  these  matters,  then  he  layd 
heinously  to  her  charge  the  thing  that  herselfe  could  not  deny,  that 
al  the  world  wist  was  true,  and  that  natheles  every  man  laughed  al 
to  here  it  then  so  sodainly  so  highly  taken, — that  she  was  naught 
of  her  body.  And  for  thys  cause  (as  a  goodly  continent  prince, 
clene  and  fautless  of  himself,  sent  oute  of  heaven  into  this  vicious 
world  for  the  amendment  of  mens  maners)  he  caused  the  bishop 
of  London  to  put  her  to  open  pennance,  going  before  the  crosse 
in  procession  upon  a  sonday  v/ith  a  taper  in  her  hand.  In  which 
she  went  in  countenance  and  pace  demure  so  womanly ;  and  albeit 
she  was  out  of  al  array  save  her  kyrtle  only,  yet  went  she  so  fair 
and  lovely,  namelye,  while  the  wondering  of  the  people  caste  a 
comly  rud  in  her  chekes  (of  which  she  before  had  most  misse)  that 
her  great  shame  wan  her  much  praise  among  those  that  were  more 
amorous  of  her  body,  then  curious  of  her  soule.  And  many  good 
foike  also,  that  hated  her  living,  and  glad  wer  to  se  sin  corrected, 
yet  pittied  thei  m.ore  her  penance  then  rejoiced  therin,  when  thei 
considred  that  the  protector  procured  it  more  of  a  corrupt  intent, 
then  any  virtuous  affeccion. 

"  This  woman  was  born  in  London,  worshipfully  frended,  honestly 
brought  up,  and  very  wel  maryed,  saving  somewhat  too  soone ; 
lier  husbande  an  honest  citizen,  yonge,  and  goodly,  and  of  good 
substance.  But  forasmuch e  as  they  were  coupled  ere  she  wer  wel 
ripe,  she  not  very  fervently  loved,  for  whom  she  never  longed. 
Which  M^as  happely  the  thinge,  that  the  more  easily  made  her 
encline  unto  the  king's  appetite,  when  he  required  her.  Howbeit 
the  respect  of  his  royaltie,  the  hope  of  gay  apparel,  ease,  plesure, 
and  other  wanton  welth,  was  able  soone  to  perse  a  soft  tender 
hearte.  But  when  the  king  had  abused  her,  anon  her  husband  (as 
he  was  an  honest  man,  and  one  that  could  his  good,  not  presuming 
to  touch  a  kinges  concubine)  left  her  up  to  him  al  together.  When 
the  king  died,  the  lord  chambeilcn  [Hastings]  toke  her :  *  which 


*  After  the  death  of  Hastings,  she  was  kept  by  the  marquis  of 
Dorset,  son  to  Edward  IV.'s  queen.     In  Rymer's  Focdcra  is  a  pro- 


JANE    SHORE,  265 

in  the  kinges  daies,  albeit  he  was  sore  enamoured  upon  her,  yet 
he  forbare  her,  either  for  reverence,  or  for  a  certain  friendly  faith- 
fulness. 

"  Proper  she  was,  and  faire :  nothing  in  her  body  that  you  wold 
have  changed,  but  if  you  would  have  wished  her  somewhat  higher. 
Thus  say  thei  that  knew  her  in  her  youthe.  Albeit  some  that  now 
see  her  (for  yet  she  liveth)  deme  her  never  to  have  bene  wel  visaged. 
Whose  jugement  seemeth  me  somewhat  like,  as  though  men  should 
gesse  the  bewty  of  one  longe  before  departed,  by  her  scalpe  taken 
out  of  the  charnel-house ;  for  now  is  she  old,  lene,  withered,  and 
dried  up,  nothing  left  but  ryvilde  skin,  and  hard  bone.  And  yet 
being  even  such,  whoso  wel  advise  her  visage,  might  gesse  and 
devise  which  partes  how  filled,  wold  make  it  a  fair  face. 

"  Yet  delited  not  men  so  much  in  her  bewty,  as  in  her  pleasant 
behaviour.  For  a  proper  wit  had  she,  and  could  both  rede  wel 
and  write ;  mery  in  company,  redy  and  quick  of  aunswer,  neither 
mute  nor  ful  of  bable;  sometime  taunting  without  displeasure,  and 
not  without  disport.  The  king  would  say,  That  he  had  three  con- 
cubines, which  in  three  divers  properties  diversly  excelled.  One 
the  meriest,  another  the  wiliest,  the  thirde  the  holiest  harlot  in  his 
realme,  as  one  whom  no  man  could  get  out  of  the  church  lightly 
to  any  place,  but  it  were  to  his  bed.  The  other  two  wer  somwhat 
greater  personages,  and  natheles  of  their  humilite  content  to  be 
nameles,  and  to  forbere  the  praise  of  those  properties;  but  the 
meriest   was  the  Shoris  wife,  in  whom  the  king  therfore  toke 


clamation  of  Richard's,  dated  at  Leicester,  Oct.  23,  1483,  wherein 
a  reward  of  1000  marks  in  money,  or  100  a  year  in  land  is  offered 
for  taking  "  Thomas  late  marquis  of  Dorset,^'  who,  "  not  having 
the  fear  of  God,  nor  the  salvation  of  his  own  soul,  before  his  eyes, 
has  damnably  debauched  and  defiled  many  maids,  widows,  and 
wives,  and  lived  in  adital  adultery  with  the  wife  of  Shoi'e.^^  Bucking- 
ham was  at  that  time  in  rebellion,  but  as  Dorset  was  not  with  him, 
Richard  could  not  accuse  him  of  treason,  and  therefore  made  a 
handle  of  these  pretended  debaucheries  to  get  him  apprehended. 
Vide  Rym.  Feed.  torn.  xij.  pag.  204. 

[The  Rev.  Mark  Noble  writes  as  follows  of  the  charge  made  by 
Richard  of  Dorset's  living  in  adultery  with  Jane  Shore. — "  It  could 
not  be  before  she  was  taken  by  Edward;  it  could  not  be  during 
I  hat  king's  life;  it  could  not  be  afterwards,  by  Richard's  own 
account,  for  by  his  proclamation  she  then  was  the  mistress  of 
Hastings  to  the  night  preceding  his  being  put  to  death.  It  could 
tiot  be  after  that  catastrophe,  for  ever  after  then  Richard  kept 
her  either  in  the  Tower  or  in  Ludgate  a  close  prisoner."— i?r<2_v/o'''^ 
GrapJiic  and  Historical  llhcstrator^  iS34>  p.  55-] 


266  JAlSrE    SHORE. 

special  pleasure.  For  many  he  had,  but  her  he  loved,  whose 
favour,  to  sai  the  troutli  (for  sinne  it  wer  to  belie  the  devil)  she 
never  abused  to  any  mans  hurt,  but  to  many  a  mans  comfort  and 
relief.  Where  the  king  toke  displeasure,  she  would  mitigate  and 
appease  his  mind  :  where  men  were  out  of  favour,  she  wold  bring 
them  in  his  grace :  for  many,  that  had  highly  offended,  shee 
obtained  pardon  :  of  great  forfeitures  she  gate  men  remission  :  and 
finally  in  many  weighty  sutes  she  stode  many  men  in  gret  stede, 
either  for  none  or  very  smal  rewardes,  and  those  rather  gay  than 
rich  :  either  for  that  she  was  content  with  the  dede  selfe  well  done, 
or  for  that  she  delited  to  be  sued  unto,  and  to  show  what  she  was 
able  to  do  wyth  the  king,  or  for  that  wanton  women  and  welthy  be 
not  alway  covetous. 

"  I  doubt  not  some  shal  think  this  woman  too  sleight  a  thing 
to  be  written  of,  and  set  amonge  the  remembraunces  of  great 
matters :  which  thei  shal  specially  think,  that  happely  shal  esteme 
her  only  by  that  thei  noiv  see  her.  But  me  semeth  the  chaunce  so 
much  the  more  worthy  to  be  remembred,  in  how  much  she  is  now 
in  the  more  beggerly  condicion,  unfrended  and  worne  out  of  ac- 
quaintance, after  good  substance,  after  as  grete  favour  with  the 
prince,  after  as  grete  sute  and  seeking  to  with  al  those,  that  in 
those  days  had  busynes  to  spede,  as  many  other  men  were  in  their 
times,  which  be  now  famouse  only  by  the  infamy  of  their  il  dedes. 
Her  doinges  were  not  much  lesse,  rJbeit  thei  be  rnuche  lesse 
remembred  because  thei  were  not  so  evil.  For  men  use,  if  they 
have  an  evil  turne,  to  write  it  in  marble ;  and  whoso  doth  us  a 
good  tourne,  we  Avrite  it  in  duste."*  Which  is  not  worst  proved  by 
her  ;  for  at  this  daye  shee  beggeth  of  many  at  this  daye  living,  that 
at  this  day  had  begged,  if  shee  had  not  bene."  See  More's  workesy 
folio,  bl.  let.  1557,  pp.  56,  57. 

Drayton  has  written  a  poetical  epistle  from  this  lady  to  her  royal 
lover,  and  in  his  notes  thereto  he  thus  draws  her  portrait :  "  Her 
stature  was  meane,  her  haire  of  a  dark  yellow,  her  face  round  and 
full,  her  eye  gray,  delicate  harmony  being  betwixt  each  part's  pro- 
portion, and  each  proportion's  colour,  her  body  fat,  white  and  smooth, 
her  countenance  cheerfull  and  like  to  her  condition.  The  picture 
which  I  have  seen  of  hers  was  such  as  she  rose  out  of  her  bed  in  the 


*  These  words  of  Sir  Thomas   More  probably  suggested  to 
Shakespeare  that  proverbial  reflection  in  Hen.  VIII.  act  iv.  sc.  2. 

"  Men's  evill  manners  live  in  brass :  their  virtues 
We  write  in  water." 

Shakesp.  in  his  play  of  Rich.  III.  follows  More's  Hist,  of  that 
reign,  and  therefore  could  not  but  see  this  passage. 


JANE    SHORE,  267 

morning,  having  nothing  on  but  a  rich  mantle  cast  under  one  arme 
over  her  shoulder,  and  sitting  on  a  chaire,  on  which  her  naked 
arm  did  lie.  What  her  father's  name  was,  or  where  she  was  borne, 
is  not  certainly  knowne :  but  Shore,  a  young  man  of  right  goodly 
person,  wealth  and  behaviour,  abandoned  her  bed  after  the  king 
had  made  her  his  concubine.  Richard  III.  causing  her  to  do  open 
penance  in  Paul's  church-yard,  co7nmanded  that  no  man  should 
relieve  her,  which  the  tyrant  did,  not  so  much  for  his  hatred  to 
sinne,  but  that  by  making  his  brothers  life  odious,  he  might  cover  his 
horrible  treasons  the  more  cunningly.''  See  Englafid's  Heroical 
Epistles,  by  Mich.  Drayton,  Esq;  Lond.  1637,  i2mo. 

An  original  picture  of  Ja7ie  Shore  almost  naked  is  preserved  in 
the  Provost's  Lodgings  at  Eton ;  and  another  picture  of  her  is  in 
the  Provost's  Lodge  at  King's  College,  Cambridge  :  to  both  which 
foundations  she  is  supposed  to  have  done  friendly  offices  with 
Edward  IV.  A  small  quarto  Mezzotinto  print  was  taken  from 
the  former  of  these  byy.  Eaber. 

The  history  of  Jane  Shore  receives  new  illustration  from  the 
follov.ing  letter  of  K.  Richard  III.  which  is  preserved  in  the  Harl. 
MSS.  Num.  433,  Art.  2378,  but  of  which  the  copy  transmitted  to 
the  Editor  has  been  reduced  to  modern  orthography,  &c.  It  is 
said  to  have  been  addressed  to  Russel  bp.  of  Lincoln,  lord  chan- 
cellor. Anno  1484. 

By  the  Ki7ig, 

*'  Right  Reverend  Father  in  God,  &c.  signifying  unto  you,  that 
it  is  shewed  unto  us,  that  our  Servant  and  Solicitor  Thomas  Ly- 
nom,  marvellously  blinded  and  abused  with  the  late  Wife  of  William 
Shore,  now  living  in  Ludgate  by  our  commandment,  hath  made 
Contract  of  Matrimony  with  her,  as  it  is  said,  and  intendeth,  to  our 
full  great  marvel,  to  effect  the  same.  WE,  for  many  causes,  would 
be  sorry  that  he  should  be  so  disposed;  pray  you  therefore  to  send 
for  him,  and  in  that  ye  goodly  may,  exhort,  and  stir  him  to  the 
contrary  :  And  if  ye  find  him  utterly  set  for  to  marry  her,  and  none 
otherwise  would  be  advertized,  then,  if  it  may  stand  with  the  laws 
of  the  church,  we  be  content  the  time  of  marriage  be  deferred  tO' 
our  coming  next  to  London ;  that  upon  sufficient  Surety  found  of 
her  good  abearing,  ye  do  so  send  for  her  Keeper,  and  discharge 
him  of  our  said  commandment,  by  Warrant  of  these,  committing 
her  to  the  rule,  and  guiding  of  her  Father,  or  any  other,  by  your 
direction,  in  the  mean  season.     Given,  &c. 

"  RIC.  Rex." 

It  appears  from  two  articles  in  the  same  MS.  that  K.  Richard 
had  granted  to  the  said  Thomas  Linofn  the  office  of  King's  Solicitor 
(Art.  134.),  and  also  the  Manor  of  Colmeworth,  com.  Bedf.  to  him 
and  his  Heirs  Male  (Art.  596.) 


268  JANE    SHORE. 

The  following  ballad  is  printed  (with  some  corrections)  from  an 
old  black-letter  copy  in  the  Pepys  collection.  ,  Its  full  title  is,  The 
woefidl  lame7itation  of  Jane  Shore,  a  goldsi?iitNs  wife  i7i  London ^ 
sometime  king  Edivard  IV.  his  concubine.  To  the  tune  of  Live  with 
me,  (5^(r.  (See  the  first  volume.)  To  every  stanza  is  annexed  the 
following  burthen  : 

"  Then  maids  and  wives  in  time  amend, 
For  love  and  beauty  will  have  end/' 

[The  tale  of  Jane  Shore's  sufferings  has  found  frequent  narrators. 
Tlie  first  known  ballad  upon  her  story  was  written  by  Thomas 
Churchyard  (who  died  in  1604)  and  is  included  in  the  Mirror  for 
Magistrates.  The  ballad  here  printed  is  attributed  to  Thomas 
Dcloney,  and  was  entered  on  the  books  of  the  Stationers'  Com- 
pany to  William  White,  printer,  on  the  nth  of  June,  1603,  but  no 
copy  of  this  edition  is  known  to  exist.  Mr.  Chappell  remarks  that 
no  copy  in  any  of  the  collections  can  be  dated  "earlier  tlian 
Charles  the  Second's  time,  or  at  most  than  the  Protectorate" 
{Roxbnrghe  Ballads,  vol.  i.  p.  479).  It  is  printed  in  the  Collection 
of  Old  Ballads,  1723  (vol.  i.  p.  145),  and  in  the  same  collection  is 
a  burlesque  song  called  King  Edward  and  Jane  Shore  (vol.  i. 
p.  153).  The  Roxburghe  copy  has  a  second  part  which  Mr.  Chap- 
pell says  is  "probably  by  another  hand  and  of  later  date."  De- 
loney  has  paid  very  little  attention  to  facts,  and  many  of  his  state- 
ments are  groundless,  for  instance  no  one  was  hanged  for  suc- 
couring Jane  (vv.  105-112),  and  instead  of  dying  of  hunger  in  a 
ditch  (vv.  125-132),  she  sumved  her  penance  nearly  fifty  years. 
(She  died  in  the  i8th  year  of  Henry  VIII.'s  reign.)  Her  hus- 
band is  named  Matthew  Shore  in  verse  13,  but  we  have  the 
best  authority  for  affirming  that  his  true  name  w^as  William. 
Richard  HI.  followed  Jane  Shore  with  unrelenting  hate,  and  not 
content  witli  making  her  do  penance,  clapping  her  in  prison  and 
depriving  her  of  all  her  property,  which  amounted  to  the  value  of 
3000  marks,  equal  to  about  ;^2o,ooo  of  our  present  money,  he 
prevented  her  from  marrying  a  respectable  man. 

There  is  no  date  to  the  paper  printed  above,  but  as  John  Rus- 
sell, D.D.,  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  was  Richard's  Chancellor  only  from 
Nov.  1484  to  July  1485,  we  can  fix  it  pretty  closely. 

According  to  Mr.  Nugent  Bell,  in  his  Huntingdon  Peerage,  the 
name  of  the  father  of  Jane  Shore  was  Thomas  Wainstead.  Granger 
says  that  the  Duchess  of  Montagu  had  a  lock  of  her  hair  wJiich 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  powdered  with  gold  dust.  For  further 
information,  see  Some  Particulars  of  the  Life  of  Jane  Shore,  by  the 
Rev.  Mark  Noble,  in  Braylcy's  Graphic  Illustrator,  pp.  49-64.] 


JANE    SHORE.  269 


<??^^2  F  Rosamonde  that  was  so  faire, 

Had  cause  her  sorrowes  to  declare, 
^Wt^^P    Then  let  lane  Shore  with  sorrowe  shig^, 
^■^^'^s^^)^    That  was  beloved  of  a  king. 

In  maiden  yeares  my  beautye  bright  s 

Was  loved  dear  of  lord  and  knight ; 
But  yet  the  love  that  they  requir'd, 
It  was  not  as  my  friends  desir'd. 

My  parents  they,  for  thirst  of  gaine, 

A  husband  for  me  did  obtaine  ;  1® 

And  I,  their  pleasure  to  fulfille. 

Was  forc'd  to  wedd  against  my  wille. 

To  Matthew  Shore  I  was  a  wife, 

Till  lust  brought  ruine  to  my  life ; 

And  then  my  life  I  lewdlye  spent,  if 

Which  makes  my  soul  for  to  lament. 

In  Lombard-street  I  once  did  dwelle, 

As  London  yet  can  witness  welle ; 

Where  many  gallants  did  beholde 

My  beautye  in  a  shop  of  golde.  aw> 

I  spred  my  plumes,  as  wantons  doe, 
Some  sweet  and  secret  friende  to  wooe, 
Because  chast  love  I  did  not  iinde 
Agreeing  to  my  wanton  minde. 

At  last  my  name  in  court  did  ring  25 

Into  the  eares  of  Englandes  king, 
Who  came  and  lik'd,  and  love  requir'd, 
But  I  made  coye  what  he  desir'd  : 

Yet  Mistress  Blague,  a  neighbour  neare, 
Whose  friendship  I  esteemed  deare,  :«? 

Did  saye.  It  was  a  gallant  thing 
To  be  beloved  of  a  king. 


270  JANE    SHORE 

By  her  persuasions  I  was  led, 

For  to  defile  my  marriage-bed, 

And  wronge  my  wedded  husband  Shore,      is 

Whom  I  had  married  yeares  before. 

In  heart  and  mind  I  did  rejoyce, 

That  I  had  made  so  sweet  a  choice ; 

And  therefore  did  my  state  resigne, 

To  be  king  Edward's  concubine.  40 

From  city  then  to  court  I  went. 
To  reape  the  pleasures  of  content ; 
There  had  the  joyes  that  love  could  bring. 
And  knew  the  secrets  of  a  king. 

When  I  was  thus  advanced  on  highe  45 

Commanding  Edward  with  mine  eye, 
For  Mrs.  Blague  I  in  short  space 
Obtainde  a  livinge  from  his  grace. 

No  friende  I  had  but  in  short  time 

I  made  unto  a  promotion  climbe ;  %<- 

But  yet  for  all  this  costlye  pride. 

My  husbande  could  not  mee  abide. 

His  bed,  though  wronged  by  a  king, 
His  heart  with  deadlye  griefe  did  sting; 
From  England  then  he  goes  away  5,- 

To  end  his  life  beyond  the  sea. 

He  could  not  live  to  see  his  name 
Impaired  by  my  wanton  shame  ; 
Although  a  prince  of  peerlesse  might 
Did  reape  the  pleasure  of  his  right.  ^o 

Long  time  I  lived  in  the  courte, 
With  lords  and  ladies  of  great  sorte ; 
And  when  I  smil'd  all  men  were  glad, 
But  when  I  frown'd  my  prince  grewe  snd. 


JANE    SHORE.  271 

But  yet  a  gentle  minde  I  bore  65 

To  helplesse  people,  that  were  poore ; 

I  still  redrest  the  orphans  crye, 

And  sav'd  their  lives  condemnd  to  dye. 

I  still  had  ruth  on  widowcs  tears, 

I  succour'd  babes  of  tender  yeares  ;  70 

And  never  look'd  for  other  gaine 

But  love  and  thankes  for  all  my  paine. 

At  last  my  royall  king  did  dye, 
And  then  my  dayes  of  woe  grew  nighe ; 
When  crook-back  Richard  got  the  crowne,  75 
King  Edwards  friends  were  soon  put  downe. 

I  then  was  punlsht  for  my  sin, 

That  I  so  long  had  lived  in  ; 

Yea,  every  one  that  was  his  friend, 

This  tyrant  brought  to  shamefull  end.  80 

Then  for  my  lewd  and  wanton  life, 
That  made  a  strumpet  of  a  wife, 
I  penance  did  m  Lombard-street, 
In  shamefull  manner  in  a  sheet. 

Where  many  thousands  did  me  viewe,  85 

Who  late  in  court  my  credit  knewe ; 
Which  made  the  teares  run  down  my  face, 
To  thinke  upon  my  foul  disgrace. 

Not  thus  content,  they  took  from  mee 
My  goodes,  my  livings,  and  my  fee,  93 

And  charg  d  that  none  should  me  relieve, 
Nor  any  succour  to  me  give. 

Then  unto  Mrs.  Blague  I  went, 

To  whom  my  jewels  I  had  sent, 

In  hope  therebye  to  ease  my  want,  95 

When  riches  fail'd,  and  love  grew  scant : 


2  72  JANE    SHORE. 

But  she  denyed  to  me  the  same 

When  In  my  need  for  them  I  came ; 

To  recompence  my  former  love, 

Out  of  her  doores  shee  did  me  shove-  ico 

So  love  did  vanish  with  m}^  state, 
Which  now  my  soul  repents  too  late  ; 
Therefore  example  take  by  mee, 
For  friendship  parts  in  povertle. 

But  yet  one  friend  among  the  rest,  105 

Whom  I  before  had  seen  distrest, 
And  sav'd  his  life,  condemn'd  to  die, 
Did  give  me  food  to  succour  me  : 

For  which,  by  lawe,  it  was  decreed 
That  he  was  hanged  for  that  deed  ;  no 

His  death  did  grieve  me  so  much  more, 
Than  had  I  dyed  myself  therefore. 

Then  those  to  whom  I  had  done  good, 
Durst  not  afford  me  any  food  ;' 
Whereby  I  begged  all  the  day,  115 

And  still  in  streets  by  night  I  lay. 

My  gowns  beset  with  pearl  and  gold. 
Were  turn'd  to  simple  garments  old  ; 
My  chains  and  gems  and  golden  rings, 
To  filthy  rags  and  loathsome  things.  120 

Thus  was  I  scorn'd  of  maid  and  wife, 
For  leading  such  a  wicked  life  ; 
Both  sucking  babes  and  children  small, 
Did  make  their  pastime  at  my  fall. 

I  could  not  get  one  bit  of  bread,  5*5 

Whereby  my  hunger  might  be  fed  : 
Nor  drink,  but  such  as  channels  yield, 
Or  stinking  ditches  In  the  field. 


JANE    SHORE,  273 

Thus,  weary  of  my  life,  at  lengthe 

I  yielded  up  my  vital  strength  130 

Within  a  ditch  of  loathsome  scent, 

Where  carrion  dogs  did  much  frequent : 

The  which  now  since  my  dying  daye. 
Is  Shoreditch  call'd,  as  writers  saye* ; 
W'^hich  is  a  witness  of  my  sinne,  135 

For  beinof  concubine  to  a  kino^. 

You  wanton  wives,  that  fall  to  lust, 

Be  you  assur  d  that  God  is  just ; 

Whoredome  shall  not  escape  his  hand, 

Nor  pride  unpunish'd  in  this  land.  14;* 

If  God  to  me  such  shame  did  bring, 
That  yielded  only  to  a  king, 
How  shall  they  scape  that  daily  run 
To  practise  sin  with  every  one  ? 

You  husbands,  match  not  but  for  love,  145 

Lest  some  disliking  after  prove ; 

Women,  be  warn'd  when  you  are  wives, 

What  plagues  are  due  to  sinful  lives  : 
Then,  maids  and  wives,  in  time  amend, 
For  love  and  beauty  will  have  end.  150 


*  But  it  had  this  name  long  before;  being  so  called  from  its 
being  a  common  Sewer  (vulgarly  Shore)  or  drain.     See  Stow, 

[Weever  states  that  it  was  named  from  the  Lord  of  the  Manor. 
Sir  John  de  Sordig  was  Ambassador  from  Edward  III.  to  the  Pope, 
to  remonstrate  with  his  Holiness  on  his  claim  to  present  foreigners 
to  English  livings.] 


7^ 


2  74 


CORYDON'S 


XXVII. 
CORYDON'S    DOLEFUL   KNELL. 

"HIS  little  simple  elegy  is  given,  with  some  corrections, 
from  two  copies,  one  of  which  is  in  The  golde?i  gar- 
land of  princely  delights. 

The  burthen  of  the  song,  Ding  Dong^  &c.  is  at  present 
appropriated  to  burlesque  subjects,  and  therefore  may  excite  only 
ludicrous  ideas  in  a  modern  reader ;  but  in  the  time  of  our  poet  it 
usually  accompanied  the  most  solemn  and  mournful  strains.  Of 
this  kind  is  that  fine  aerial  Dirge  in  Shakespear's  Tempest: 

"  Full  fadom  five  thy  father  lies. 

Of  his  bones  are  corrall  made ; 
Those  are  pearles  that  were  his  eyes ; 

Nothing  of  him,  that  doth  fade, 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 

Into  something  rich  and  strange  : 
Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell, 

Harke  now  I  heare  them.  Ding  dong  bell. 
"  Burthen,  Ding  Dong." 

I  make  no  doubt  but  the  poet  intended  to  conclude  the  above  air 
in  a  manner  the  most  solemn  and  expressive  of  melancholy. 


|j' Y  Philllda,  adieu  love  ! 
For  evermore  farewel ! 
Ay  me !  I've  lost  my  true  love, 
And  thus  I  ring  her  knell, 
Ding  dong,  ding  dong,  ding  dong, 

My  Phillida  is  dead  ! 
ril  stick  a  branch  of  willow 
At  my  fair  Phillis  head. 

For  my  fair  Phillida 

Our  bridal  bed  was  made : 

But  'stead  of  silkes  so  gay, 
She  in  her  shroud  is  laid. 
Ding,  &c. 


TO 


DOLEFUL    KNELL.  275 

Her  corpse  shall  be  attended 

By  maldes  in  fair  array, 
Till  the  obsequies  are  ended,  15 

And  she  is  wrapt  in  clay. 
Ding,  &c. 

Her  herse  it  shall  be  carried 

By  youths,  that  do  excell ; 
And  when  that  she  is  buried, 

I  thus  will  ring  her  knell,  »o 

Ding,  &c. 

A  garland  shall  be  framed 

By  art  and  natures  skill, 
Of  sundry-colour'd  flowers. 

In  token  of  good- will  * : 
Ding,  &c. 

And  sundry-colour'd  ribbands  %$ 

On  it  I  will  bestow  ; 
But  chiefly  black  and  yellowet: 

With  her  to  grave  shall  go. 
Ding,  &c. 

ril  decke  her  tomb  with  flowers, 

The  rarest  ever  seen,  30 

And  with  my  tears,  as  showers, 
ril  keepe  them  fresh  and  green. 
Ding,  &c. 

Instead  of  fairest  colours, 
Set  forth  with  curious  artf , 

*  It  is  a  custom  in  many  parts  of  England,  to  carry  a  flower)/ 
garland  before  the  corpse  of  a  woman  who  dies  unmarried  [For 
further  note  on  this  custom,  see  The  Bride's  Burial^  vol  iii. 
Book  11.  No.  13,] 

+  See  above,  preface  to  No.  XI.  Book  II. 

X  This  alludes  to  the  painted  effigies  of  alabsijSter,  anciently 
•erected  upon  tombs  and  monuments.  ^ 


2/6     CORY  DON'S   DOLEFUL    KNELL. 

Ding,  &c. 
Her  image  shall  be  painted  35 

On  my  distressed  heart. 

And  thereon  shall  be  graven 

Her  epitaph  so  faire, 
"Here  lies  the  loveliest  maiden, 

That  e'er  gave  shepheard  care."  40 

Ding,  &c. 

In  sable  will  I  mourne ; 

Blacke  shall  be  all  my  weede; 
Ay  me  !  I  am  forlorne, 
Now  Phillida  is  dead ! 

Ding  dong,  ding  dong,  ding  dong, 

My  Phillida  is  dead !  46 

I'll  stick  a  branch  of  willow 
At  my  fair  Phillis'  head 


THE   END  OF   THE   SECOND   BOOK. 


RELIQUES  OF  ANCIENT  POETRY,  ETC 


SERIES   THE   SECOND. 


BOOK  III. 


I. 


THE   COMPLAINT   OF   CONSCIENCE. 


SHALL  begin  this  third  book  with  an  old  allegoric 
Satire;  a  manner  of  moralizing,  which,  if  it  was  not 
first  introduced  by  the  author  of  Pierce  Plowmaris 
VmonSy^  was  at  least  chiefly  brought  into  repute  by 
that  ancient  Satirist.  It  is  not  so  generally  known  that  the  kind 
of  verse  used  in  this  ballad  hath  any  affinity  with  the  peculiar 
metre  of  that  writer,  for  which  reason  I  shall  throw  together  some 
cursory  remarks  on  that  very  singular  species  of  versification,  the 
nature  of  which  has  been  so  little  understood. t 

The  following  Song,  intitled,  The  Complaint  of  Cofiscience,  is 
printed  from  the  Editor's  folio  Manuscript :  Some  corruptions  in 
the  old  copy  are  here  corrected ;  but  with  notice  to  the  Reader, 
wherever  it  was  judged  necessary,  by  inclosing  the  corrections 
between  inverted  '  commas  ' 


[This  poem  entitled  Conscie7ice  is  printed  in  Hales  and  FurnivalFs 
edition  of  the  Percy  folio  MS.  (vol.  ii.  p.  174),  with  a  long  preface 
by  Mr.  Furnivall,  on  the  earnest  side  of  Early  English  literature. 

It  will  be  seen  from  the  foot-notes  that  Percy  left  many  of  his 
corrections  unnoticed.] 


*  [The  correct  title  is  William's  Visiofi  of  Piers  Plowma^i, 
William  (the  author)  who  has  the  vision  of  Piers  Plowman, 
t  This  essay  is  printed  as  an  Appendix.] 


It  is 


28o  THE    COMPLAINT 


^S  I  walked  of  late  by  *  an '  wood  side, 
To  God  for  to  meditate  was  my  entent ; 
Where  under   a  hawthorne   I   suddenlye 
spyed 

A  silly  poore  creature  ragged  and  rent, 
With  bloody  teares  his  face  was  besprent,  5 

His  fleshe  and  his  color  consumed  away, 
And  his  garments  they  were  all  mire,  mucke,  and 
clay. 

This  made  me  muse,  and  much  *  to '  desire 
To  know  what  kind  of  man  hee  shold  bee ; 
I  stept  to  him  straight,  and  did  him  require  10 

His  name  and  his  secretts  to  shew  unto  mee. 
His  head  he  cast  up,  and  wooful  was  hee. 
My  name,  quoth  he,  is  the  cause  of  my  care, 
And  makes  me  scorned,  and  left  here  so  bare. 

Then  straightway  he  turn'd  him,  and  pray'd  *  me'  sit 
downe,  15 

And  I  will,  saithe  he,  declare  my  whole  greefe  ; 
My  name  Is  called   Conscience  : — wheratt  he  did 

frowne, 
He  pined  to  repeate  It,  and  grinded  his  teethe, 
*  Thoughe  now,  silly  wretche,  I'm  denyed  all  releef,* 
*  Yet '  while  I  was  young,  and  tender  of  yeeres,  20 
I  was  entertained  with  kinges,  and  with  peeres. 

Ver.  I.  one,  MS.     [V.  3.  espyed,  MS.     Between  vv.  5,  6  the 
MS.  has  this  Hne,  "  with  turning  and  winding  his  bodye  was  toste." 
After  V.  7,  the  MS.  has  the  following  lines : — 

"  good  lord  !  of  my  liffe  deprive  me,  I  pray 
for  I  silly  wretcli  am  ashamed  of  my  name ! 

my  name,"  quoth  hee,  "  is  the  cause  of  my  care, 

and  I  cursse  my  godfathers  that  gave  me  the  same !  '* 

Percy  omits  three  of  these,  and  transfers  the  third  line  to  v.  13.] 
\ .  15.  him,  MS.    V.  19.  not  in  MS.    [V.  20.  form  place  of  jy/,  MS.] 


OF   CONSCIENCE.  2S1 

There  was  none  in  the  court  that  lived  In  such  fame. 

For  with  the  kings  councell  '  I '  sate  in  commission  ; 

Dukes,  earles,  and  barrons  esteem'd  of  my  name ; 

And  how  that  I  Hv'd  there  needs  no  repetition  :       15 

I  was  ever  holden  in  honest  condition, 
•  For  howsoever  the  lawes  went  in  Westminster-hall, 
When  sentence  was  given,  for  me  they  wold  call. 

No  incomes  at  all  the  landlords  wold  take, 
But  one  pore  peny,  that  was  their  fine  ;  jo 

And  that  they  acknowledged  to  be  for  my  sake. 
The  poore  wold  doe  nothing  without  councell  mine  : 
I  ruled  the  world  with  the  right  line  : 

For  nothing  was  passed  betweene  foe  and  friend, 
But  Conscience  was  called  to  bee  at  'the'  end.     35 

Noe  bargaines,  nor  merchandize  merchants  wold  make 
But  I  was  called  a  wittenesse  therto  : 
No  use  for  noe  money,  nor  forfett  wold  take, 
But  I  wold  controule  them,  if  that  they  did  soe : 
'  And '  that  makes  me  live  now  In  great  woe,  40 

For  then  came  in  Pride,  Sathan's  disciple. 
That  Is  now  entertained  with  all  kind  of  people. 

He  brought  with  him  three,  whose  names  *  thus  they 

call' 
That  Is  Covetousnes,  Lecherye,  Usury,  beside  : 
They   never   prevail'd,    till  they  had  wrought   my 
downefall ;  45 

Soe  Pride  was  entertained,  but  Conscience  decried, 
And  '  now  ever  since'  abroad  have  I  tryed 

To  have  had  entertainment  with  some  one  or  other; 
But  I  am  rejected,  and  scorned  of  my  brother. 


[Ver.  22.  in  all  the  court]  V.  23.  he  sate,  MS.  [V.  34.  that 
was  passed.]  V.  35.  an  end,  MS.  [V.  36.  Noe  merchandize  nor 
bargaines  the  merchants  wold  make.  V.  42.  now  is.]  V.  43.  they 
be  these,  MS.  V.  46.  was  deride,  MS.  [V.  47.  Yet  still  abroad 
have  I  tner].] 


282  THE    COMPLAINT 

Then  went  I  to  the  Court  the  gallants  to  winn,       50 
But  the  porter  kept  me  out  of  the  gate : 
To  Bartlemew  Spittle^  to  pray  for  my  sinne. 
They  bade  me  goe  packe,  it  was  fitt  for  my  state ; 
Goe,  goe,  threed-bare  Conscience,  and  seeke  thee  a 
mate. 
Good  Lord,  long  preserve  my  king,  prince,  and 
queene,  55 

With  whom  evermore  I  esteemed  have  been. 

Then  went  I  to  London,  where  once  I  did  *  dwell ' : 
But  they  bade  away  with  me,  when  they  knew  my 

name ; 

For  he  will  undoe  us  to  bye  and  to  sell !  59 

They  bade  me  goe  packe  me,  and  hye  me  for  shame  ; 

They  lought*^  at  my  raggs,  and  there  had  good  game; 

This   is   old  threed-bare  Conscience,   that  dwelt 

with  saint  Peter  : 
But  they  wold  not  admitt  me  to  be  a  chimney- 
sweeper. 

Not  one  wold  receive  me,  the  Lord  *he'  doth  know; 

I  having  but  one  poor  pennye  in  my  purse,  (>s 

On  an  awle  and  some  patches  I  did  it  bestow ; 

*  For '  I  thought  better  cobble  shooes  than  doe  worse. 

Straight  then  all  the  coblers  began  for  to  curse, 
And  by  statute  wold  prove  me  a  rogue,  and  forlorne, 
And  whipp  me  out  of  towne  to  '  seeke '  where  I 
was  borne.  7<» 


[Ver.  51.  gates.  V.  52.  sinnes.]  V.  53.  packe  me,  MS.  [V.  56. 
have  esteemed.]  V.  57.  wonne,  MS.  [V.  64.  the  Lord  God  doth. 
V.  66.  of  an.  V.  67.  I  thought  better  to  cobble  shoes  than  to  doe 
worse.  V.  68.  all  they  cobblers.  V.  69.  and  by  statute  the  wold 
prove  me  I  was  a  rouge  and  forlome.  V.  70.  And  they  whipt  rae 
out  of  towne  to  see  where  I  was  borne.] 

\}  St.  Bartholomew's  Hospital.  ^  laughed.] 


OF   CONSCIENCE,  283 

Then  did  I  remember,  and  call  to  my  minde, 
The  Court  of  Conscience  where  once  I  did  sit : 
Not  doubting  but  there  I  some  favor  shold  find, 
For  my  name  and  the  place  agreed  soe  fit  ; 
But  there  of  my  purpose  I  fayled  a  whit,  75 

For  *  thoughe'  the  judge  us'd  my  name  in  everye 

*  commission,' 
The  lawyers  with  their  quillets^  wold  get  'my* 
dismission. 

Then  Westminster-hall  was  noe  place  for  me  ; 
Good  lord  !  how  the  Lawyers  began  to  assemble. 
And  fearful!  they  were,  lest  there  I  shold  bee  1         80 
The  silly  poore  clarkes  began  for  to  tremble ; 
I  showed  them  my  cause,  and  did  not  dissemble ; 
Soe  they  gave  me  some  money  my  charges  to  beare, 
But  swore  me  on  a  booke  I  must  never  come  there. 

Next  the  Merchants  said,  Counterfeite,  get  thee 

away,  85 

Dost  thou  remember  how  wee  thee  found  ? 
We  banisht  thee  the  country  beyond  the  salt  sea, 
And  sett  thee  on  shore  in  the  New-found  land  ; 
And  there  thou  and  wee  most  friendly  shook  hand, 
And  we  were  right  glad  when  thou  didst  refuse  us  ; 
For  when  we  wold  reape  profitt  here  thou  woldst 
accuse  us.  91 

Then  had  I  noe  way,  but  for  to  goe  on 
To  Gentlemens  houses  of  an  ancyent  name ; 
Declaring  my  greeffcs,  and  there  I  made  moane, 
*  Telling '  how  their  forefathers  held  me  in  fame  :    95 


[Ver.  72.  they  Court.  V.  73.  some  favor  I.  V.  76.  did  use  my 
name  in  everye  condicion.  V.  77.  for  lawyers  get  a.  V.  79.  good 
god.  V.  83.  soe  then  they.  V.  85.  then  the  merchants.  V.  89. 
hands.  V.  90.  verry  glad  .  .  .  did  ...  V.  91.  wold.  V.  92. 
goc  an.    V.  95.  and  how  .  .  .  had  held,  MS.] 

[*  quibbles.] 


284  THE    COMPLAINT 

And  at  letting  their  farmes  *  how  always  I  came  *. 
They  sayd,  Fye  upon  thee !  we  may  thee  curse  : 
*  Theire'  leases  continue,  and  we  fare  the  worse. 

And  then  I  was  forced  a  begging  to  goe 
To  husbandmens  houses,  who  greeved  right  sore,  loo 
And  sware  that  their  landlords  had  plagued  them  so 
That  they  were  net  able  to  keepe  open  doore, 
Nor  nothing  had  left  to  give  to  the  poore  : 
Therefore  to  this  wood  I  doe  me  repayre, 
Where  hepps  and  hawes,  that  is  my  best  fare.    105 

Yet  within  this  same  desert  some  comfort  I  have 
Of  Mercy,  of  Pittye,  and  of  Almes-deeds  ; 
Who  have  vowed  to  company  me  to  my  grave. 
Wee  are  '  all '  put  to  silence,  and  live  upon  weeds, 
*  And  hence  such  cold  house-keeping  proceeds'  :    no 

Our  banishment  is  its  utter  decay, 

The  which  the  riche  glutton  will  answer  one  day. 

Why  then,  I  said  to  him,  me-thinks  it  were  best 
To  goe  to  the  Clergie ;  for  dailye  they  preach 
Eche  man  to  love  you  above  all  the  rest ;  115 

Of  Mercye,  and  Pittie,  and  Almes-' deeds',  they  teach. 
O,  said  he,  noe  matter  of  a  pin  what  they  preach, 

For  their  wives  and  their  children  soe  hange  them 
upon, 

That  whosoever  gives  almes  they  will*  give  none. 


*  We  ought  in  justice  and  truth  to  read  '  can.* 

[Ver.  96.  and  in  letting  of  their  ffarmes  I  always  used  the  same. 
V.  98.  they  have  leases.  V.  10 1.  who  sware  ...  so  sore.  V.  103. 
the  had.  V.  104.  doe  repayre.]  V.  109.  ill,  MS.  V.  no.  not  in 
MS.  [V.  III.  their  utter.  V.  115.  of  pittie  and  of  almes  they  doe 
teach.  V.  117.  doe  preach.  V.  118.  hangs.]  V.  119.  almcs- 
deeds,  MS. 


OF    CONSCIENCE,  285 

Then  laid  he  him  down,  and  turned  him  away,       izo 
*  And '  prayd  me  to  goe,  and  leave  him  to  rest. 
I  told  him,  I  haplie  might  yet  see  the  day 
For  him  and  his  fellowes  to  live  with  the  best. 
First,  said  he,  banish  Pride,  then  all  England  were 

blest ; 
For  then  those  wold  love  us,  that  now  sell  their 

land,  125 

And  then  good  *  house-keeping  wold  revive'  out 

of  hand. 


II. 

PLAIN    TRUTH     AND    BLIND 
IGNORANCE. 


OAi 


HIS  excellent  old  ballad  is  preserved  in  the  little  ancient 

^P  miscellany,  intitled,  The  Gai'land  of  Goodwill. — Igno- 

'4^  ranee  is  here  made  to  speak  in  the  broad  Somersetshire 

dialect.    The  scene  we  may  suppose  to  be  Glastonbury 


Truth. 

OD  speed  you,  ancient  father, 
And  give  you  a  good  daye ; 
What  is  the  cause,  I  praye  you 
So  sadly  here  you  staye  ? 
And  that  you  keep  such  gazing 

On  this  decayed  place. 
The  which,  for  superstition. 
Good  princes  down  did  raze  ? 


[Ver.  122.  I  might  happen  to  see.  V.  123.  to  have  him.  V.  124^ 
you  must  banish  pride  and  then.  V.  125.  and  then,  .  .  .  sells 
their  lands.]    V.  126.  houses  every  where  wold  be  kept,  MS. 


286  PLAIN    TRUTH   AND 


Ignorance. 

Chill  ^  tell  thee,  by  my  vazen* 

That  zometimes  che'^  have  knowne  jo 

A  vair  and  goodly  abbey 

Stand  here  of  bricke  and  stone  ; 
And  many  a  holy  vrler,' 

As  ich*  may  say  to  thee, 
Within  these  goodly  cloysters 

Che  did  full  often  zee.  1 5 

Truth. 

Then  I  must  tell  thee,  father, 

In  truthe  and  veritie, 
A  sorte  of  greater  hypocrites 

Thou  couldst  not  likely  see ;  20 

Deceiving  of  the  simple 

With  false  and  feigned  lies  : 
But  such  an  order  truly 

Christ  never  did  devise. 

Ignorance. 

Ah  !  ah  !  che  zmell  thee  now,  man ;  25 

Che  know  well  what  thou  art ; 
A  vellow  of  mean  learning. 

Thee  was  not  worth  a  vart : 
Vor  when  we  had  the  old  lawe, 

A  merry  world  was  then  ;  30 

And  every  thing  was  plenty 

Among  all  zorts  of  men. 


*  /.  e.  faithcn  :  as  in  the  Midland  counties  they  say  housen, 
clonen,  for  houses,  closes.     A. 

]}  I  will.  2  I  3  friar.  ^  L] 


BLIND    IGNORANCE,  287 

Truth. 

Thou  givest  me  an  answer, 

As  did  the  Jewes  sometimes 
Unto  the  prophet  Jeremye,  35 

When  he  accus'd  their  crimes  ; 
'Twas  merry,  sayd  the  people, 

And  joyfull  in  our  rea'me, 
When  we  did  offer  spice-cakes 

Unto  the  queen  of  heav'n.  40 

Ignorance. 

Chill  tell  thee  what,  good  vellowe, 

Before  the  vriers  went  hence, 
A  bushell  of  the  best  wheate 

Was  zold  vor  vourteen  pence ; 
And  vorty  egges  a  penny,  45 

That  were  both  good  and  newe  ; 
And  this  che  zay  my  zelf  have  zeene, 

And  yet  ich  am  no  J  ewe. 

Truth. 

Within  the  sacred  bible 

We  find  it  written  plain,  50 

The  latter  days  should  troublesom^e 

And  dangerous  be,  certaine  ; 
That  we  should  be  self-lovers, 

And  charity  wax  colde  ; 
Then  'tis  not  true  religion  55 

That  makes  thee  grief  to  holde. 

Ignorance. 

Chill  tell  thee  my  opinion  plaine, 
And  choul'd^  that  well  ye  knewe, 

Ich  care  not  for  the  bible  booke ; 
Tis  too  big  to  be  true. 

['  I  would.] 


288  PLAIN    TRUTH   AND 

Our  blessed  ladyes  psalter 

Zhall  for  my  money  goe  ; 
Zuch  pretty  prayers,  as  there  bee*, 

The  bible  cannot  zhowe. 

Truth. 

Nowe  hast  thou  spoken  trulye,  65 

For  in  that  book  indeede 
No  mention  of  our  lady, 

Or  Romish  saint  we  read : 
For  by  the  blessed  Spirit 

That  book  indited  was,  70 

And  not  by  simple  persons, 

As  was  the  foolish  masse. 

Ignorance. 

Cham^  zure  they  were  not  voolishe 

That  made  the  masse,  che  trowe ; 
Why,  man,  'tis  all  in  Latine,  75 

And  vools  no  Latine  knowe. 
Were  not  our  fathers  wise  men, 

And  they  did  like  it  well ; 
Who  very  much  rejoyced 

To  heare  the  zacring  bell  ?^  %• 

Truth. 

But  many  kinges  and  prophets, 

As  I  may  say  to  thee. 
Have  wisht  the  light  that  you  have, 

And  could  it  never  see  : 
For  what  art  thou  the  better  %% 

A  Latin  song  to  heare, 
And  understandest  nothing, 

That  they  sing  in  the  quiere  ? 


*  Probably  alluding  to  the  illuminated  Psalters,  Missals,  &c. 

f^  I  am.  2  the  sacring  bell  was  rung  to  give  notice  of  the 

elevation  of  the  host.] 


BLIND   IGNORANCE,  289 

Ignorance. 

O  hold  thy  peace,  che  pray  thee, 

The  noise  was  passing  trim  90 

To  heare  the  vriers  zinging, 

As  we  did  enter  in ; 
And  then  to  zee  the  rood-loft 

Zo  bravely  zet  with  zaints  ; — 
But  now  to  zee  them  wandring  95 

My  heart  with  zorrow  vaints. 

Truth. 

The  Lord  did  give  commandment. 

No  image  thou  shouldst  make, 
Nor  that  unto  idolatry 

You  should  your  self  betake  :  100 

The  golden  calf  of  Israel 

Moses  did  therefore  spoile ; 
And  Baal's  priests  and  temple 

Were  brought  to  utter  foile. 

Ignorance. 

But  our  lady  of  Walsinghame  105 

Was  a  pure  and  holy  zaint, 
And  many  men  in  pilgrimage 

Did  shew  to  her  complaint. 
Yea  with  zweet  Thomas  Becket, 

And  many  other  moe  :  no 

The  holy  maid  of  Kent*  likewise 

Did  many  wonders  zhowe. 

Truth. 

Such  saints  are  well  agreeing 

To  your  profession  sure  ; 
And  to  the  men  that  made  them  115 

So  precious  and  so  pure ; 


•  By  name  Eliz.  Barton,  executed  Apr.  21,  1534.    Stow,  p.  570. 
2  U 


290     TRUTH  AND   IGNORANCE. 

The  one  for  being  a  traytoure, 

Met  an  untimely  death  ; 
The  other  eke  for  treason 

Did  end  her  hateful  breath.  120 

Ignorance. 

Yea,  yea,  it  is  no  matter, 

Dispraise  them  how  you  wille : 
But  zure  they  did  much  goodnesse ; 

Would  they  were  with  us  stille ! 
We  had  our  holy  water,  iz? 

And  holy  bread  likewise, 
And  many  holy  reliques 

We  zaw  before  our  eyes. 

Truth. 

And  all  this  while  they  fed  you 

With  vain  and  empty  showe,  130 

Which  never  Christ  commanded, 

As  learned  doctors  knowe  : 
Search  then  the  holy  scriptures, 

And  thou  shalt  plainly  see 
That  headlong  to  damnation  135 

They  alway  trained  thee. 

Ignorance. 

If  it  be  true,  good  vellowe, 

As  thou  dost  zay  to  mee, 
Unto  my  heavenly  fader 

Alone  then  will  I  flee  :  140 

Believing  in  the  Gospel, 

And  passion  of  his  zon, 
And  with  the  zubtil  papistes 

Ich  have  for  ever  done. 


THE    WANDERING    JEW.       291 

III. 

THE   WANDERING  JEW. 


*HE  story  of  the  Wandering  Jew  is  of  considerable  an- 
tiquity :  it  had  obtained  full  credit  in  this  part  of  the 
rvsv^pi^  world  before  the  year  1228,  as  we  learn  from  Mat. 
i^^^^l  Paris.  For  in  that  year,  it  seenris,  there  came  an  Ar- 
menian archbishop  into  England,  to  visit  the  shrines  and  reliques 
preserved  in  our  churches ;  who,  being  entertained  at  the  monastery 
of  St.  Albans,  was  asked  several  questions  relating  to  his  country, 
&c.  Among  the  rest  a  monk,  who  sat  near  him,  inquired,  "  if  he 
had  ever  seen  or  heard  of  the  famous  person  named  Joseph,  that 
was  so  much  talked  of;  who  was  present  at  our  Lord's  crucifixion 
and  conversed  with  him,  and  who  was  still  alive  in  confirmation  of 
the  Christian  faith."  The  archbishop  answered.  That  the  fact  was 
true.  And  afterwards  one  of  his  train,  who  was  well  known  to  a 
servant  of  the  abbot's,  interpreting  his  master's  words,  told  them 
in  French,  "  That  his  lord  knew  the  person  they  spoke  of  very 
well :  that  he  had  dined  at  his  table  but  a  little  while  before  he 
left  the  East :  that  he  had  been  Pontius  Pilate's  porter,  by  name 
Cartaphilus ;  who,  when  they  were  dragging  Jesus  out  of  the  door 
of  the  Judgment-hall,  struck  him  with  his  fist  on  the  back,  saying, 
*  Go  faster,  Jesus,  go  faster  :  why  dost  thou  linger?'  Upon  which 
Jesus  looked  at  him  with  a  frown  and  said,  '  I  indeed  am  going,  but 
thou  shalt  tarry  till  I  come.'  Soon  after  he  was  converted,  and  bap- 
tized by  the  name  of  Joseph.  He  lives  for  ever,  but  at  the  end  of 
every  hundred  years  falls  into  an  incurable  illness,  and  at  length  into 
a  fit  or  ecstacy,  out  of  which  when  he  recovers,  he  returns  to  the 
same  state  of  youth  he  was  in  when  Jesus  suffered,  being  then 
about  thirty  years  of  age.  He  remembers  all  the  circumstances 
of  the  death  and  resurrection  of  Christ,  the  saints  that  arose  with 
him,  the  composing  of  the  apostles'  creed,  their  preaching,  and  dis- 
persion ;  and  is  himself  a  very  grave  and  holy  person."  This  is  the 
substance  of  Matthew  Paris's  account,  who  was  himself  a  monk  of 
St.  Albans,  and  was  living  at  the  time  when  this  Armenian  arch- 
bishop made  the  above  relation. 

Since  his  time  several  impostors  have  appeared  at  intervals 
under  the  name  and  character  of  the  Wandering  Jew ;  whose 
several  histories  may  be  seen  in  Calmet's  Dictionary  of  the  Bible. 
See  also  the  Turkish  Spy,  vol.  ii.  book  3,  let.  i.  The  story  that  is 
copied  in  the  following  ballad  is  of  one,  who  appeared  at  Ham- 
burgh in  1547,  and  pretended  he  had  been  a  Jewish  shoemaker  at 


292        THE    WANDERING    JEW. 

the  time  of  Christ's  crucifixion. — The  ballad  however  seems  to 
be  of  later  date.  It  is  preserved  in  black-letter  in  the  Pepys  col- 
lection. 

[This  wondrous  myth  has  found  its  way  into  many  literatures, 
and  numerous  theories  have  been  brought  forward  to  account  for 
its  universality ;  but  the  only  foundation  for  it  appears  to  be  in 
Christ's  words — "  tarry  till  I  come."  Mons.  Paul  Lacroix,  how- 
ever, suggests  that  it  took  its  rise  in  a 'grand  and  beautiful  allegory 
in  which  the  Hebrew  race  were  personified  under  the  figure  of 
the  Everlasting  Wanderer.  Professor  Child  makes  the  following 
pertinent  remark  in  his  English  and  Scottish  Ballads  (vol.  viii. 
p.  78).  "  It  will  be  noticed  that  in  the  second  form  of  the  legend, 
the  punishment  of  perpetual  existence,  which  gives  rise  to  the  old 
mxats,  Jtidceus  non  mortalis^  Ewiger  Jude,  is  aggravated  by  a  con- 
demnation to  incessant  change  of  place,  which  is  indicated  by 
a  corresponding  name,  Wandering  Jew,  Juif  E7'rant,  &c." 

In  the  Middle  Ages  it  was  supposed  by  some  that  Cain  was  the 
Wandering  Jew,  but  the  Mahometan  belief  was  fixed  upon  Samiri, 
who,  during  the  absence  of  Moses,  enticed  the  people  to  worship 
the  golden  calf.  In  G.  Weil's  The  Bible,  the  Korajt,  and  the  Tal- 
mud, 1846  (p.  127),  we  read,  "  Moses  then  summoned  Samiri,  and 
would  have  put  him  to  death  instantly,  but  Allah  directed  that  he 
should  be  sent  into  banishment.  Ever  since  that  time  he  roams 
like  a  wild  beast  throughout  the  world ;  everyone  shuns  him  and 
purifies  the  ground  on  which  his  feet  have  stood ;  and  he  himself,, 
whenever  he  approaches  men,  exclaims,  *  Touch  me  not.' "  (Quoted 
in  Buckle's  Common  Place  Book.     Works,  vol.  ii.  p.  502,  1872.) 

The  legend  has  been  localized  in  various  parts  of  the  world  and 
connected  with  other  myths.  According  to  Mr.  Baring  Gould,  a 
similar  curse  to  that  under  which  the  Wandering  Jew  is  living  is 
supposed  to  have  been  inflicted  upon  the  gipsies,  on  account  of 
their  refusal  to  shelter  the  Virgin  and  Child  in  the  flight  into- 
Egypt. 

The  last  recorded  appearance  of  the  Wandering  Jew  was  at 
Brussels  in  April,  1774,  and  the  wanderer's  name  was  Isaac 
Laquedem.  The  name  of  the  Hamburgh  impostor,  mentioned 
above  by  Percy,  was  Ahasuerus.J 


THE    WANDERING    JEW.       293 


;HEN  as  in  faire  Jerusalem 
Our  Saviour  Christ  did  live, 
And  for  the  sins  of  all  the  worlde 
His  own  deare  life  did  give ; 
The  wicked  J  ewes  with  scoffes  and  scornes       5 

Did  dailye  him  molest, 
That  never  till  he  left  his  life, 
Our  Saviour  could  not  rest. 

When  they  had  crown'd  his  head  with  thornes, 

And  scourg'd  him  to  disgrace,  k 

In  scornfull  sort  they  led  him  forthe 

Unto  his  dying  place; 
Where  thousand  thousands  in  the  streete 

Beheld  him  passe  along, 
Yet  not  one  gentle  heart  was  there,  15 

That  pityed  this  his  wrong. 

Both  old  and  ^-^oung  reviled  him, 

As  in  the  streete  he  wente, 
And  nought  he  found  but  churlish  tauntes, 

By  every  ones  consente  :  «o 

His  owne  deare  crosse  he  bore  himselfe, 

A  burthen  far  too  great, 
Which  made  him  in  the  street  to  fainte, 

With  blood  and  water  sweat. 

Being  weary  thus,  he  sought  for  rest;  25 

To  ease  his  burthened  soule, 
Upon  a  stone ;  the  which  a  wretch 

Did  churlishly  controule ; 
And  sayd,  Awaye,  thou  king  of  J  ewes, 

Thou  shalt  not  rest  thee  here  ;  jo 

Pass  on  ;  thy  execution  place 

Thou  seest  nowe  draweth  neare. 


294        THE    WANDERING    JEW. 

And  thereupon  he  thrust  him  thence ; 

At  which  our  Saviour  sayd, 
I  sure  will  rest,  but  thou  shalt  walke,  35 

And  have  no  journey  stayed. 
With  that  this  cursed  shoemaker, 

For  offering  Christ  this  wrong, 
Left  wife  and  children,  house  and  all, 

And  went  from  thence  along.  40 

Where  after  he  had  seene  the  bloude 

Of  Jesus  Christ  thus  shed, 
And  to  the  crosse  his  bodye  nail'd, 

Awaye  with  speed  he  fled 
Without  returning  backe  againe  45 

Unto  his  dwelling  place, 
And  wandred  up  and  downe  the  worlde, 

A  runnagate  most  base. 

No  resting  could  he  finde  at  all, 

No  ease,  nor  hearts  content ;  fo 

No  house,  nor  home,  nor  biding  place  : 

But  wandring  forth  he  went 
From  towne  to  towne  in  foreigne  landes, 

With  grieved  conscience  still, 
Repenting  for  the  heinous  guilt  55 

Of  his  fore-passed  ill. 

Thus  after  some  fewe  ages  past 

In  wandring  up  and  downe ; 
He  much  again  desired  to  see 

Jerusalems  renowne,  60 

But  finding  it  all  quite  destroyd, 

He  wandred  thence  with  woe. 
Our  Saviours  wordes,  which  he  had  spoke, 

To  verifie  and  showe. 

*'  I'll  rest,  sayd  hee,  but  thou  shalt  walke,**        6| 
So  doth  this  wandring  Jew 


THE    WANDERING    JEW.       295 

From  place  to  place,  but  cannot  rest 

For  seeing  countries  newe  ; 
Declaring  still  the  power  of  him, 

Whereas  he  comes  or  goes,  70 

And  of  all  things  done  in  the  east. 

Since  Christ  his  death,  he  showes. 

The  world  he  hath  still  compast  round 

And  seene  those  nations  strange, 
That  hearing  of  the  name  of  Christ,  ti 

Their  idol  gods  doe  change  : 
To  whom  he  hath  told  wondrous  thinges 

Of  time  forepast,  and  gone. 
And  to  the  princes  of  the  worlde 

Declares  his  cause  of  moane  :  8* 

Desiring  still  to  be  dissolv'd, 

And  yeild  his  mortal  breath ; 
But,  if  the  Lord  hath  thus  decreed, 

He  shall  not  yet  see  death. 
For  neither  lookes  he  old  nor  young,  Ss 

But  as  he  did  those  times. 
When  Christ  did  suffer  on  the  crosse 

For  mortall  sinners  crimes. 

He  hath  past  through  many  a  foreigne  place, 

Arabia,  Egypt,  Africa,  90 

Grecia,  Syria,  and  great  Thrace, 

And  throughout  all  Hungaria. 
Where  Paul  and  Peter  preached  Christ, 

Those  blest  apostles  deare  ; 
There  he  hath  told  our  Saviours  wordes,  95 

In  countries  far,  and  neare. 

And  lately  in  Bohemia, 

With  many  a  German  towne ; 
And  now  in  Flanders,  as  tis  thought. 

He  wandreth  up  and  downe  :  100 


296        THE    WANDERING    JEW. 

Where  learned  men  with  him  conferre 

Of  those  his  Hngering  dayes, 
And  wonder  much  to  heare  him  tell 

His  journey es,  and  his  wayes. 

If  people  give  this  Jew  an  almes,  105 

The  most  that  he  will  take 
Is  not  above  a  groat  a  time  : 

Which  he,  for  Jesus*  sake, 
Will  kindlye  give  unto  the  poore, 

And  thereof  make  no  spare,  no 

Affirming  still  that  Jesus  Christ 

Of  him  hath  dailye  care. 

He  ne'er  was  seene  to  laugh  nor  smile, 

But  weepe  and  make  great  moane ; 
Lamenting  still  his  miseries,  ii| 

And  dayes  forepast  and  gone : 
If  he  heare  any  one  blaspheme. 

Or  take  God's  name  in  vaine, 
He  telles  them  that  they  crucifie 

Their  Saviour  Christe  againe. 


IM 


If  you  had  seene  his  death,  saith  he. 

As  these  mine  eyes  have  done, 
Ten  thousand  thousand  times  would  yee 

His  torments  think  upon  : 
And  suffer  for  his  sake  all  paine  \%% 

Of  torments,  and  all  woes. 
These  are  his  wordes  and  eke  his  life 

Whereas  he  comes  or  goes. 


THE   LYE,  297 

THE  LYE, 

By  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 

'S  found  in  a  very  scarce  miscellany  intitled  "  Davison! s 
Fo 67113,  or  a  poeticall  Rapsodie  divided  into  sixe  books  .  .  . 
The  4th  impression  newly  corrected  and  augmented, 
and  put  into  a  forme  more  pleasing  to  the  reader. 
Lond.  162 1,  i2mo."  This  poem  is  reported  to  have  been  written 
by  its  celebrated  author  the  night  before  his  execution,  Oct.  29, 
i6t8.  But  this  must  be  a  mistake,  for  there  were  at  least  two 
editions  of  Davison's  poems  before  that  time,  one  in  1608,*  the 
other  in  161 1. 1  So  that  unless  this  poem  was  an  after-insertion  in 
the  4th  edit,  it  must  have  been  written  long  before  the  death  of 
Sir  Walter :  perhaps  it  was  composed  soon  after  his  condemnation 
in  1603.     See  Oldys's  Life  of  Sir  W,  Raleigh,  p.  173,  fol. 

[Hallam  asserted  that  this  favourite  poem  had  been  ascribed 
to  Raleigh  without  evidence  and  without  probability.  Ritson 
affirmed  that  F.  Davison  was  the  author,  and  Ellis  supported  the 
claims  of  Joshua  Sylvester,  but  Dr.  Hannah  has  proved  conclu- 
sively that  it  was  really  written  by  Raleigh.  It  was  certainly  com- 
posed before  1608,  and  probably  about  the  period  of  its  author's  mar- 
riage and  his  consequent  imprisonment  in  the  Tower.  Dr.  Hannah 
has  brought  together  a  large  amount  of  illustrative  evidence  in  his 
interesting  edition  of  the  Courtly  Poets  (1872),  and  he  shows  that 
the  answerers  of  the  poem  attributed  it  to  Raleigh.  One  of  the 
answers  commences  as  follows — 

''  Go,  echo  of  the  mind,  a  careless  truth  protest ; 
Make  answer  that  rude  Rav/ly  no  stomach  can  digest." 

He  also  draws  attention  to  a  transcript  of  the  poem  among  the 
Chetham  MSS.,  made  not  long  after  Raleigh's  death,  and  signed 
"  Wa.  Raleigh." 

In  that  remarkable  book,  Sylvester's  Remains,  printed  at  the  end 
of  the  translation  of  Du  Bartas,  1641,  The  Soules  Errand  is  in- 
serted with  some  poor  additional  verses.] 


*  Catalog,  of  T.  Rawlinson,  1727. 

t  Cat.  of  Sion  coll.  library.     This  is  either  lost  or  mislaid. 


298  THE    LYE. 


OE,  soule,  the  bodies  guest, 
Upon  a  thankelesse  arrant ; 
Feare  not  to  touche  the  best, 
The  truth  shall  be  thy  warrant : 
Goe,  since  I  needs  must  dye,  5 

And  give  the  world  the  lye. 

Goe  tell  the  court,  it  glowes 

And  shines  like  rotten  wood  ; 
Goe  tell  the  church  it  showes 

What's  good,  and  doth  no  good :  10 

If  church  and  court  reply, 
Then  give  them  both  the  lye. 

Tell  potentates  they  live 

Acting  by  others  actions  ; 
Not  lov'd  unlesse  they  give,  15 

Not  strong  but  by  their  factions  ; 
If  potentates  reply, 
Give  potentates  the  lye. 

Tell  men  of  high  condition, 

That  rule  affairs  of  state,  «• 

Their  purpose  is  ambition. 
Their  practise  onely  hate  ; 
And  if  they  once  reply, 
Then  give  them  all  the  lye. 

Tell  them  that  brave  it  most,  %% 

They  beg  for  more  by  spending, 
Who  in  their  greatest  cost 

Seek  nothing  but  commending  ; 
And  if  the}'  make  reply. 
Spare  not  to  give  the  lye.  30 


THE    LYE,  299 

Tell  zeale,  it  lacks  devotion ; 

Tell  love  it  is  but  lust ; 
Tell  time,  it  is  but  motion  ; 
Tell  flesh,  it  is  but  dust  ; 

And  wish  them  not  reply,  35 

For  thou  must  give  the  lye. 

Tell  age,  it  daily  wasteth  ; 

Tell  honour,  how  it  alters  ; 
Tell  beauty,  how  she  blasteth  ; 

Tell  favour,  how  she  falters  ;  40 

And  as  they  shall  reply. 
Give  each  of  them  the  lye. 

Tell  wit,  how  much  it  wrangles 
In  tickle  points  of  nicenesse  ; 
Tell  wisedome,  she  entangles  45 

Herselfe  in  over-wisenesse ; 
And  if  they  do  reply, 
Straight  give  them  both  the  lye. 

Tell  physicke  of  her  boldnesse ; 

Tell  skill,  it  is  pretension ;  50 

Tell  charity  of  coldness ; 
Tell  law,  it  is  contention ; 
And  as  they  yield  reply. 
So  give  them  still  the  lye. 

Tell  fortune  of  her  blindnesse ;  55 

Tell  nature  of  decay ; 
Tell  friendship  of  unkindnesse ; 
Tell  justice  of  delay  : 
And  if  they  dare  reply, 
Then  give  them  all  the  lye.  6c 

Tell  arts,  they  have  no  soundnesse, 
But  vary  by  esteeming ; 


300  VERSES    BY 

Tell  schooles,  they  want  profoundnesse, 
And  stand  too  much  on  seeming : 

If  arts  and  schooles  reply,  65 

Give  arts  and  schooles  the  lye. 

Tell  faith,  it's  fled  the  citie ; 

Tell  how  the  countrey  erreth  ; 
Tell,  manhood  shakes  off  pitie ; 

Tell,  vertue  least  preferreth  :  70 

And,  if  they  doe  reply, 
Spare  not  to  give  the  lye. 

So,  when  thou  hast,  as  I 

Commanded  thee,  done  blabbing, 
Although  to  give  the  lye  75 

Deserves  no  less  than  stabbing, 
Yet  stab  at  thee  who  will. 
No  stab  the  soule  can  kill. 


V. 

VERSES  BY  KING  JAMES  I. 

JN  the  first  edition  of  this  book  were  inserted,  by  way  of 
specimen  of  his  majesty's  poetic  talents,  some  Punning 
Verses  made  on  the  disputations  at  SterHng  :  but  it 
having  been  suggested  to  the  Editor,  that  the  king  only 
gave  the  quibbling  commendations  in  prose,  and  that  some  ob- 
sequious court-rhymer  put  them  into  metre;*  it  was  thought 
proper  to  exchange  them  for  two  Sonnets  of  K.  James's  own 
composition.  James  was  a  great  versifier,  and  therefore  out  ot 
the  multitude  of  his  poems  we  have  here  selected  two,  which  (to 
shew  our  impartiality)  are  written  in  his  best  and  his  worst  man- 
ner. The  first  would  not  dishonour  any  writer  of  that  time ;  the 
second  is  a  most  complete  example  of  the  Bathos. 

*  See  a  folio  intitled  The  Muses  welcome  to  King  James. 


KING    JAMES    /.  301 

[James  I.  commenced  the  practice  of  poetry  at  an  early  age, 
and  his  first  book  was  printed  at  Edinburgh  by  T.  VautroulHer,  in 
1584,  under  the  title  of  The  Essays  of  a  Frentise  in  the  divine  art 
of  Poesie.  The  king's  next  poetical  venture  was  entitled,  His 
Majesty s  Poeticall  Exercises  at  Vacant  Honres.  Printed  at  Edin- 
burgh, by  Robert  Waldegrave,  printer  to  the  King's  Majesty  in 

A  Sonnet  addressed  by  King  James  to  his 
SON  Prince  Henry. 

From  K.  James's  works  in  folio :  Where  is  also  printed  another 
called  his  Majesty's  own  Sonnet ;  it  would  perhaps  be  too  cruel  to 
infer  from  thence  that  this  was  not  his  Majesty's  own  Sonnet. 


10  D  gives  not  kings  the  stile  of  Gods  in  vaine, 
For  on  his  throne  his  scepter  do  they 

swey  : 
And  as  their  subjects  ought  them  to  obey, 
So  kings  should  feare  and  serve  their  God  againe. 

If  then  ye  would  enjoy  a  happie  reigne, 

Observe  the  statutes  of  our  heavenly  king  ; 
And  from  his  law  make  all  your  laws  to  spring ; 

Since  his  lieutenant  here  ye  should  remaine. 

Rewarde  the  just,  be  stedfast,  true  and  plaine ; 

Represse  the  proud,  maintayning  aye  the  right ; 

Walke  always  so,  as  ever  in  his  sight, 
Who  guardes  the  godly,  plaguing  the  prophane. 

And  so  ye  shall  in  princely  vertues  shine, 

Resembling  right  your  mightie  king  divine. 


302     VERSES    BY  KING    JAMES    T. 

A  Sonnet  occasioned  by  the  bad  Weather 
WHICH  hindred  the  Sports  at  New- 
market in  January  i6i6. 

This  is  printed  from  Drummond  of  Hawthornden's  works,  folio : 
where  also  may  be  seen  some  verses  of  Lord  Stirling's  upon  this 
Sonnet,  which  concludes  with  the  finest  Anticlimax  I  remember 
to  have  seen. 

jOW  cruelly  these  catlves  do  conspire  ? 

What  loathsome  love  breeds  such  a  bale- 
ful band 
)^^       Betwixt  the  cankred  king  of  Creta  land,* 
That  melancholy  old  and  angry  sire, 

And  him,  who  wont  to  quench  debate  and  ire  5 

Among  the  Romans,  when  his  ports  were  clos'dpf 
But  now  his  double  face  is  still  dispos'd, 

With  Saturn's  help,  to  freeze  us  at  the  fire. 

The  earth  ore-covered  with  a  sheet  of  snow, 
Refuses  food  to  fowl,  to  bird,  and  beast :  10 

The  chilling  cold  lets  every  thing  to  grow, 
And  surfeits  cattle  with  a  starving  feast. 

Curs'd  be  that  love  and  moughtj  continue  short. 

Which  kills  all  creatures,  and  doth  spoil  our  sport. 

*  Saturn.  f  Janus.  J  /.<?.  may  it. 


K.    JOHN  AND    THE    ABBOT     303 


VI. 

K.   JOHN   AND    THE   ABBOT    OF 
CANTERBURY. 

*HE  common  popular  ballad  of  King  John  and  the  Abbot 
seems  to  have  been  abridged  and  modernized  about  the 
time  of  James  I.  from  one  much  older,  intitled,  King 
John  ajid  the  Bishop  of  Canterbury.  The  Editor's  folio 
MS.  contains  a  copy  of  this  last,  but  in  too  corrupt  a  state  to  be 
reprinted ;  it  however  afforded  many  lines  worth  reviving,  which 
will  be  found  inserted  in  the  ensuing  stanzas. 

The  archness  of  the  following  questions  and  answers  hath  been 
much  admired  by  our  old  ballad-makers ;  for  besides  the  two  copies 
above  mentioned,  there  is  extant  another  ballad  on  the  same  sub- 
ject (but  of  no  great  antiquity  or  merit),  intitled,  King  Olfrey  and 
the  Abbot*  Lastly,  about  the  time  of  the  civil  wars,  when  the  cry 
ran  against  the  Bishops,  some  Puritan  worked  up  the  same  story 
into  a  very  doleful  ditty,  to  a  solemn  tune,  concerning  King  Henry 
and  a  Bishop,  with  this  stinging  moral : 

"  Unlearned  men  hard  matters  out  can  find. 
When  learned  bishops  princes  eyes  do  blind." 

[All  the  copies  of  this  ballad  are  of  late  date,  but  Mr.  Chappell 
says  that  the  story  upon  which  it  is  founded  can  be  traced  back  to 
the  fifteenth  century,  and  Dr.  Rimbault  so  traces  it  to  the  Adventures 
of  Howleglas,  printed  in  the  Lower  Saxon  dialect  in  1483.  Wynkyn 
de  Worde  printed  in  15 11  a  collection  of  riddles  translated  from 
the  French,  with  the  title  Demaundes  Joyous,  which  are  like  those 
propounded  by  King  John  to  the  Abbot.  Prof  Child  points  out 
that  by  this  link  the  ballad  is  connected  with  a  tolerably  large 
literature  of  wit  combats  of  the  middle  ages.  (See  English  and 
Scottish  Ballads,  vol.  viii.  p.  3.) 

Copies  of  the  puritan  ballad  referred  to  above  aie  in  the  Pepyg, 
Douce,  and  Roxburghe  collections.     It  commences  as  follows — 


*  See  the  collection  oi  Hist,  Ballads,  3  vols.  1727.  Mr.  Wise 
supposes  Olfrey  to  be  a  corruption  of  Alfi-ed,  in  his  pamohlet  con- 
cerning the  White  Horse  in  Berkshire,  p.  15. 


304  K.    JOHN   AND    THE 

"  In  Popish  times,  when  bishops  proud 

In  England  did  bear  sway, 
Their  lordships  did  like  princes  live, 

And  kept  all  at  obey." 

The  ballad  entitled  King  John  and  Bishoppe,  in  the  folio  MS .  ro 
which  Percy  refers,  is  printed  at  the  end  of  the  following  ballad.] 


The  following  is  chiefly  printed  from  an  ancient  black-letter  copy,  to 
"  The  tune  of  Derry  down" 

(N  ancient  story  He  tell  you  anon 

Of  a  notable  prince,  that  was  called  king 
John  ; 
And  he   ruled  England  with  maine  and 
with  might. 
For  he  did  great  wrong,  and  maintein'd  little  right. 

And  He  tell  you  a  story,  a  story  so  merry e,  s 

Concerning  the  Abbot  of  Canterburye  ; 
How  for  his  house-keeping,  and  high  renowne, 
They  rode  poste  for  him  to  fair  London  towne. 

An  hundred  men,  the  king  did  heare  say. 

The  abbot  kept  in  his  house  every  day ;  lo 

And  fifty  golde  chaynes,  without  any  doubt, 

In  velvet  coates  waited  the  abbot  about. 

How  now,  father  abbot,  I  heare  it  of  thee, 
Thou  keepest  a  farre  better  house  than  mee. 
And  for  thy  house-keeping  and  high  renowne,  15 

I  feare  thou  work'st  treason  against  my  crown. 

My  liege,  quo'  the  abbot,  I  would  it  were  knowne, 
I  never  spend  nothing,  but  what  is  my  owne ; 
And  I  trust,  your  grace  will  doe  me  no  deere,^ 
For  spending  of  my  owne  true-gotten  geere.  ao 

\}  harm.] 


ABB 0  7'   OF   CANTERBURY.     305 

Yes,  yes,  father  abbot,  thy  fault  it  is  highe, 
And  now  for  the  same  thou  needest  must  dye ; 
For  except  thou  canst  answer  me  questions  three, 
Thy  head  shall  be  smitten  from  thy  bodie. 

And  first,  quo'  the  king,  when  Fm  in  this  stead,      15 
With  my  crowne  of  golde  so  faire  on  my  head, 
Among  all  my  liege-men  so  noble  of  birthe. 
Thou  must  tell  me  to  one  penny  what  I  am  worthe. 

Secondlye,  tell  me,  without  any  doubt, 
How  soone  I  may  ride  the  whole  worlde  about.      30 
And  at  the  third  question  thou  must  not  shrink, 
But  tell  me  here  truly  what  I  do  think. 

O,  these  are  hard  questions  for  my  shallow  witt. 
Nor  I  cannot  answer  your  grace  as  yet : 
But  if  you  will  give  me  but  three  weekes  space,       ;  5 
He  do  my  endeavour  to  answer  your  grace. 

Now  three  weeks  space  to  thee  will  I  give. 
And  that  is  the  longest  time  thou  hast  to  live ; 
For  if  thou  dost  not  answer  my  questions  three, 
Thy  lands  and  thy  livings  are  forfeit  to  mee.  40 

Away  rode  the  abbot  all  sad  at  that  word, 
And  he  rode  to  Cambjridge,  and  Oxenford ; 
But  never  a  doctor  there  was  so  wise. 
That  could  with  his  learning  an  answer  devise. 

Then  hom.e  rode  the  abbot  of  comfort  so  cold,        45 
And  he  mett  his  shepheard  a  going  to  fold  : 
How  now,  my  lord  abbot,  you  are  welcome  home ; 
What  newes  do  you  bring  us  from  good  king  John  ? 

"  Sad  newes,  sad  newes,  shepheard,  I  must  give ; 
That  I  have  but  three  days  more  to  live  :  50 

For  if  I  do  not  answer  him  questions  three, 
My  head  will  be  smitten  from  my  bodie. 
2  X 


3o6  K.    JOHN   AND    THE 

The  first  Is  to  tell  him  there  in  that  stead, 
With  his  crowne  of  golde  so  fair  on  his  head, 
Among  all  his  liege  men  so  noble  of  birth,  55 

To  within  one  penny  of  what  he  is  worth. 

The  seconde,  to  tell  him,  without  any  doubt. 
How  soone  he  may  ride  this  whole  world  about : 
And  at  the  third  question  I  must  not  shrinke, 
But  tell  him  there  truly  what  he  does  thinke."  60 

Now  cheare  up,  sire  abbot,  did  you  never  hear  yet, 
That  a  fool  he  may  learn  a  wise  man  witt  ? 
Lend  me  horse,  and  serving  men,  and  your  apparel, 
And  ril  ride  to  London  to  answere  your  quarrel. 

Nay  frowne  not,  if  it  hath  bin  told  unto  mee,  65 

I  am  like  your  lordship,  as  ever  may  bee : 

And  if  you  will  but  lend  me  your  gowne, 

There  is  none  shall  knowe  us  at  fair  London  towne. 

*'  Now  horses,  and  serving-men  thou  shalt  have, 
With  sumptuous  array  most  gallant  and  brave  ;       70 
With  crozler,  and  miter,  and  rochet,  and  cope, 
Fit  to  appeare  'fore  our  fader  the  pope." 

Now  welcome,  sire  abbot,  the  king  he  did  say, 
Tis  well  thou'rt  come  back  to  keepe  thy  day  ; 
For  and  i-f  thou  canst  answer  my  questions  three,    75 
Thy  life  and  thy  living  both  saved  shall  bee. 

And  first,  when  thou  seest  me  here  in  this  stead. 
With  my  crown  of  golde  so  fair  on  my  head, 
Among  all  my  liege-men  so  noble  of  birthe, 
Tell  me  to  one  penny  what  I  am  worth.  80 

'"■  For  thirty  pence  our  Saviour  was  sold 
Amonge  the  false  Jewes,  as  I  have  bin  told; 
And  twenty  nine  is  the  worth  of  thee, 
For  I  thinke,  thou  art  one  penny  worser  than  hee." 


ABBOT    OF   CANTERBURY,      307 

The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  St.  BIttel*        S5 
I  did  not  think  I  had  been  worth  so  littel ! 
— Now  secondly  tell  me,  without  any  doubt, 
How  soone  I  may  ride  this  whole  world  about. 

"  You  must  rise  with  the  sun,  and  ride  with  the  same. 
Until  the  next  morning  he  riseth  againe  ;  90 

And  then  your  grace  need  not  make  any  doubt, 
But  in  twenty-four  hours  you'll  ride  it  about." 

The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  St.  Jone, 

I  did  not  think,  it  could  be  gone  so  soone ! 

— Now  from  the  third  question  thou  must  not  shrinke. 

But  tell  me  here  truly  what  I  do  thinke.  96 

''  Yea,  that  shall  I  do,  and  make  your  grace  merry  : 
You  thinke  I'm  the  abbot  of  Canterbury ; 
But  I'm  his  poor  shepheard,  as  plain  you  may  see, 
That  am  come  to  beg  pardon  for  him  and  for  mee." 

The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  the  masse,       .01 
He  make  thee  lord  abbot  this  day  in  his  place ! 
^*  Now  naye,  my  liege,  be  not  in  such  speede, 
For  alacke  I  can  neither  write,  ne  reade." 

Four  nobles  a  weeke,  then  I  will  give  thee,  lo^ 

For  this  merry  jest  thou  hast  showne  unto  mee  ; 
And  tell  the  old  abbot  when  thou  comest  home, 
Thou  hast  brought  him  a  pardon  from  good  king  John. 


*  Meaning  probably  St.  Botoiph. 


3o8  K.  JOHN  AND    THE 


HE  following  version  is  reprinted  from  Hales  and  Fur- 
nivall's  edition  of  the  Percy  Folio,  vol.  i.  p.  508. 

Off  an  ancient  story  He  tell  you  anon, 

of  a  notable  prince  that  was  called  King  lohn, 

in  England  was  borne,  with  maine  and  with  might 

hee  did  much  wrong,  and  mainteined  litle  right.  *f. 

this  noble  prince  was  vexed  in  veretye, 

for  he  was  angry  with  the  bishopp  of  canterbury 

ffor  his  house-keeping  and  his  good  cheere, 

thd  rode  post  for  him,  as  you  shall  heare ;  % 

they  rode  post  for  him  very  hastilye ; 

the  King  sayd  the  bishopp  kept  a  better  house  then  hee  \ 

a  100  men  euen,  as  I  say, 

the  Bishopp  kept  in  his  house  euerye  day,  12 

and  50  gold  chaines  without  any  doubt, 

in  veluett  coates  waited  the  Bishopp  about. 

the  Bishopp,  he  came  to  the  court  anon 

before  his  prince  that  was  called  King  lohn.  1 

as  soone  as  the  Bishopp  the  King  did  see, 

"  O,"  quoth  the  King,  "  Bishopp,  thou  art  welcome  to  mee ! 

there  is  noe  man  soe  welcome  to  towne 

as  thou  that  workes  treason  against  my  crowne."  7.0 

*'  My  leege,"  quoth  the  Bishopp,  "  I  wold  it  were  knowne ; 

I  spend,  your  grace,  nothing  but  that  thats  my  owne ; 

I  trust  your  grace  will  doe  me  noe  deare 

for  spending  my  owne  trew  gotten  geere."  24- 

"  Yes,"  quoth  the  King,  "  Bishopp,  thou  must  needs  dye ; 

eccept  thou  can  answere  mee  questions  3, 

thy  head  shalbe  smitten  quite  from  thy  bodye, 

and  all  thy  lining  remayne  vnto  mee.  28 

*'  first,"  quoth  the  King,  "  tell  me  in  this  steade, 

with  this  crowne  of  gold  heere  vpon  my  head, 

amongst  my  Nobilitye  with  loy  and  much  Mirth, 

lett  me  know  within  one  pennye  what  I  am  worth :  3» 

Secondlye,  tell  me  without  any  dowbt 

how  soonc  I  may  goe  the  whole  world  about : 


ABBOT   OF  CANTERBURY.      309 

and  thirdly,  tell  mee  or  euer  I  stinte, 

what  is  the  thing,  Bishopp,  that  I  doe  thinke.  36 

20  dayes  pardon  thoust  haue  trulye, 

and  come  againe  and  answere  mee." 

the  Bishopp  bade  the  King  'god  night'  att  a  word. 

he  rode  bet^vixt  Cambridge  and  Oxenford,  40 

biit  neuer  a  Doctor  there  was  soe  wise 

cold  shew  him  these  questions  or  enterprise ; 

wherewith  the  Bishopp  was  nothing  gladd, 

but  in  his  hart  was  heauy  and  sadd,  44 

and  hyed  him  home  to  a  house  in  the  countrye 

To  ease  some  part  of  his  Melanchollye. 

his  halfe  brother  dwelt  there,  was  feirce  &  fell, 

noe  better  but  a  shepard  to  the  Bishoppe  him-sell ;  48 

the  shepard  came  to  the  Bishopp  anon, 

•saying,  "  my  Lord,  you  are  welcome  home  ! 

what  ayles  you,"  quoth  the  shepard,  "  that  you  are  soe  sadd, 
.and  had  wonte  to  haue  beene  soe  merry  &  gladd?"  52 

"  Nothing,"  quoth  the  Bishopp,  "  I  ayle  att  this  time, 
will  not  thee  availe  to  know.  Brother  mine." 

-**  Brother,"  quoth  the  Shepeard,  "  you  haue  heard  itt, 

that  a  ffoole  may  teach  a  wisemane  witt ;  56 

say  me  therfore  what-soeuer  you  will, 

and  if  I  doe  you  noe  good.  He  doe  you  noe  ill." 

•Quoth  the  Bishop  :  "  I  have  beene  att  thy  court  anon, 
before  my  prince  is  called  King  lohn,  60 

and  there  he  hath  charged  mee 
against  his  crowne  with  traitorye ; 

if  I  cannot  answer  his  misterye, 

'3  questions  hee  hath  propounded  to  mee,  64 

he  will  haue  my  Land  soe  faire  and  free, 
and  alsoe  the  head  from  my  bodye. 

the  first  question  was,  '  to  tell  him  in  that  stead 

with  the  crowne  of  gold  vpon  his  head,  68 

amongst  his  nobilitye  with  loy  &  much  mirth, 

to  lett  him  know  within  one  penye  what  hee  is  worth;' 

and  secondly e  '  to  tell  him  with-out  any  doubt 

how  soone  he  may  goe  the  whole  world  about;*  73 

.and  thirdlye,  '  to  tell  him,  or  ere  I  stint, 

what  is  the  thing  that  he  does  thinke.^  " 


TO  K.    JOHN   AND    THE 

*' Brother,"  quoth  the  shepard,  "you  are  a  man  of  Learninge; 
what  neede  you  stand  in  doubt  of  soe  small  a  thinge  ?  76 

lend  me,"  quoth  the  shepard,  *'  your  ministers  apparrell, 
He  ryde  to  the  court  and  answere  your  quarrell ; 

lend  me  your  serving  men,  say  me  not  nay; 

with  all  your  best  horsses  that  ryd  on  the  way,  ^o 

He  to  the  court,  this  matter  to  stay  ; 

He  speake  with  King  lohn  &  heare  what  heele  say." 

the  Bishopp  with  speed  prepared  then 

to  sett  forth  the  shepard  with  horsse  and  man ;  ^^ 

the  shepard  was  liuely  with-out  any  doubt ; 

I  wott  a  royall  companye  came  to  the  court. 

the  shepard  hee  came  to  the  court  anon 

before  (his)  prince  that  was  called  King  lohn.  88 

as  soone  as  the  king  the  shepard  did  see, 

**0,"  quoth  the  king,  "  Bishopp,  thou  art  welcome  to  me!" 

the  shepard  was  soe  like  the  Bishopp  his  brother, 

the  King  cold  not  know  the  one  from  the  other.  9* 

Quoth  the  King,  "  Bishopp,  thou  art  welcome  to  me 

if  thou  can  answer  me  my  questions  3  ! " 

said  the  shepeard,  "  if  it  please  your  grace, 

show  mee  Vv'hat  the  iirst  quest[i]on  was."  96 

*'  first"  quoth  the  king,  ''tell  mee  in  this  stead 

with  the  crowne  of  gold  vpon  my  head, 

amongst  my  nobilitye  with  loy  and  much  mirth, 

within  one  pennye  what  I  am  worth."  ios> 

Quoth  the  shepard,  "  to  make  your  grace  noe  offence, 

I  thinke  you  are  worth  29  pence; 

for  our  Lord  lesus,  that  bought  vs  all, 

for  30  pence  was  sold  into  thrall  104. 

amongst  the  cursed  lewes,  as  I  to  you  doe  showe ; 

but  I  know  Christ  was  one  penye  better  then  you." 

then  the  King  laught,  and  swore  by  St  Andrew 
he  was  not  thought  to  bee  of  such  a  small  value.  io9 

*  Secondlye,  tell  mee  with-out  any  doubt 
how  soone  I  may  goe  the  world  round  about," 

saies  the  shepard,  "  it  is  noe  time  with  your  grace  to  scorne; 
but  rise  betime  with  the  sun  in  the  morne,  ii» 

and  follow  his  course  till  his  vprising, 
and  then  you  may  know  with-out  any  Leasing — 


ABBOT    OF   CANTERBURY.      311 

and  this  your  grace  shall  proue  the  same — 

you  are  come  to  the  same  place  from  whence  you  came;        116 

24  houres,  with-out  any  doubt, 

your  grace  may  the  world  goe  round  about ; 

the  world  round  about,  euen  as  I  doe  say, 

if  with  the  sun  you  can  goe  the  next  way."  xao 

"  and  thirdlye  tell  me  or  euer  I  stint, 

what  is  the  thing,  Bishoppe,  that  I  doe  thinke." 

*'  that  shall  I  doe,"  quoth  the  shepeard,  "  for  veretye 

you  thinke  I  am  the  Bishopp  of  Canterburye,^'  124 

"  why?  art  not  thou?  the  truth  tell  to  me; 

for  I  doe  thinke  soe,"  quoth  the  king,  "  by  St.  Marye." 

*'  not  soe,"  quoth  the  shepeard ;  "  the  truth  shalbe  knowne, 
I  am  his  poore  shepeard ;  my  brother  is  att  home."  128 

*'  why,"  quoth  the  King,  "  if  itt  soe  bee, 
He  make  thee  Bishopp  here  to  mee." 

"  Noe  Sir  "  quoth  the  shepard,  "  I  pray  you  be  still, 

for  He  not  bee  Bishop  but  against  my  will ;  131 

for  I  am  not  fitt  for  any  such  deede, 

for  I  can  neither  write  nor  reede." 

"  why  then,"  quoth  the  king,  "  lie  giue  thee  cleere 

a  patten  of  300  pound  a  yeere  ;  136 

that  I  will  giue  thee  franke  and  free ; 

take  thee  that,  shepard,  for  coming  to  me : 

free  pardon  He  giue,"  the  kings  grace  said, 

*'  to  saue  the  Bishopp,  his  land  and  his  head;  140 

with  him  nor  thee  He  be  nothing  wrath ; 

here  is  the  pardon  for  him  and  thee  both." 

then  the  shepard  he  had  noe  more  to  say, 

but  tooke  the  pardon  and  rode  his  way.  144 

when  he  came  to  the  Bishopps  place, 

the  Bishopp  asket  anon  how  all  things  was : 

''  Brother,"  quoth  the  Shepard,  "  I  haue  well  sped, 

for  I  haue  saued  both  your  Land  &  your  head;  148 

tne  King  with  you  is  nothing  wrath, 

for  heere  is  the  pardon  for  you  and  mee  both." 

then  the  Bishopes  hart  was  of  a  merry  cheere, 

"  brother,  thy  paines  He  quitt  them  cleare,  15a 

for  I  will  giue  thee  a  patent  to  thee  &  to  thins 

of  50  1'  a  yeere  land  good  and  fine." 


312     K.    JOHN  AND    THE    ABBOT. 

''  I  will  to  thee  noe  longer  croche  nor  creepe, 

nor  He  serue  thee  noe  more  to  keepe  thy  sheepe."  156 

whereeuer  wist  you  shepard  before, 

that  had  in  his  head  witt  such  store 

to  pleasure  a  Bishopp  in  such  a  like  case, 

to  answer  3  questions  to  the  Kings  grace  ?  lOo 

whereeuer  wist  you  shepard  gett  cleare 

350 '!  pound  a  yeere  ? 

I  neuer  hard  of  his  fellow  before, 

nor  I  neuer  shall,    now  I  need  to  say  noe  more  :  J64 

I  neuer  knew  shepeard  that  gott  such  a  liuinge 

But  David  the  shepeard  that  was  a  King. 

ffins.] 


vn. 

YOU    MEANER   BEAUTIES. 

HIS  little  Sonnet  was  written  by  Sir  Henry  IVotlon, 
Knight,  on  that  amiable  Princess,  Elizabeth  daughter 
of  James  I.  and  wife  of  the  Elector  Palatine,  who 
was  chosen  King  of  Bohemia,  Sept.  5,  1619.  The 
consequences  of  this  fatal  election  are  well  known  :  Sir  Henry 
Wotton,  who  in  that  and  the  following  year  was  employed  in 
several  embassies  in  Germany  on  behalf  of  this  unfortunate  lady, 
seems  to  have  had  an  uncommon  attachment  to  her  merit  and 
fortunes,  for  he  gave  away  a  jewel  worth  a  thousand  pounds,  that 
was  presented  to  him  by  the  Emperor,  "  because  it  came  from  an 
enemy  to  his  royal  mistress  the  Queen  of  Bohemia."  See  Biog. 
Britan. 

This  song  is  printed  from  the  Reliquice  WotioniaiKB,  165 1,  with 
some  corrections  from  an  old  MS.  copy. 

[This  elegant  little  poem  in  praise  of  the  Queen  of  Bohemia 
(who  was  called  by  those  who  knew  her  and  were  won  by  her 
sweetness,  spirit,  wit,  and  unselfishness — the  Queen  of  ELearts)  has 
been  very  frequently  reprinted.  The  unfortunate  princess  was 
also  named  the  Siiow  Quce?i  and  her  husband  the  IVmter  King^ 
in  allusion  to  the  fact  that  their  reign  at  Prague  only  lasted  one 
^Nnnter.  The  poem  first  appeared,  according  to  Dr.  Rimbault,  in 
**  The  Sixt  Set  of  Bookes,  wherein  are  Anthemes  for  Versus  and 


YOU   MEANER   BEAUTIES.     313 

Chorus  of  5  and  6  Parts ;  apt  for  Violls  and  Voyces  :  newly  com- 
posed by  Michaell  Est,  Bachelor  of  Musicke,  and  Master  of  the 
Choristers  of  the  Cathedrall  Church  in  Litchfield,"  London,  1624, 
4to.  It  is  printed  in  Wifs  Rca^eatio7is,  1640,  and  Wifs  Inter- 
preter, 167 1,  and  in  "  Songs  and  Fancies  to  severall  Musicall  parts, 
both  apt  for  Voices  and  Viols,"  Aberdeen,  1682.  Alterations 
were  made  in  the  various  copies,  and  in  the  latter  book  a  wretched 
second  part,  quite  out  of  harmony  with  the  original,  was  added. 
It  has  found  its  way,  with  some  variations,  among  Montrose's  poems 
(see  Napier's  Life  of  Motitrose,  1856,  Appendix,  p.  xL),  and  Robert 
Chambers  (ignorant  of  the  Englishman  Sir  Henry  Wotton's  claim 
to  the  authorship)  actually  printed  it  in  his  Scottish  Songs  (vol.  ii. 
p.  631)  as  if  "  wTitten  by  Damley  in  praise  of  the  beauty  of  Queen 
Mary  before  their  marriage." 

Percy,  while  copying  from  the  Reliquice  Wotfoniance,  165 1, 
transposed  stanzas  2  and  3.  In  Abp.  Sancroft's  MS.  (Tanner,  465, 
fol.  43)  the  following  verses  occur  as  stanzas  4  and  6  of  the  whole 
poem : — 

"  You  rubies,  that  do  gems  adorn, 
And  sapphires  with  your  azure  hue 

Like  to  the  skies,  or  blushing  morn, 
How  pale's  your  brightness  in  our  view 
When  diamonds  are  mixed  with  you. 

"  The  rose,  the  violet,  all  the  spring 
Unto  her  breath,  for  sweetness  run ; 

The  diamond's  dark'ned  in  the  ring 
If  she  appear,  the  moon's  undone, 
As  in  the  presence  of  the  Sun."] 


OU  meaner  beauties  of  the  night, 
That  poorly  satisiie  our  eies 
More  by  your  number,  than  your  Hght ; 

You  common  people  of  the  skies, 
What  are  you  when  the  Moon  shall  rise  ? 

Ye  violets  that  first  appeare, 

B)^  your  pure  purple  mantles  known 

Like  the  proud  virgins  of  the  yeare, 
As  if  the  Spring  were  all  your  own ; 
What  are  you  when  the  Rose  is  blown  ? 


10 


314  THE    OLD    AND 

Ye  curious  chaunters  of  the  wood, 

That  warble  forth  dame  Nature's  layes, 

Thinking  your  passions  understood 

By  your  weak  accents  :  what's  your  praise, 
When  Philomell  her  voyce  shall  raise?  15 

So  when  my  mistris  shal  be  seene 

In  sweetnesse  of  her  looks  and  minde  ; 

By  virtue  first,  then  choyce  a  queen  ; 
Tell  me,  if  she  was  not  design'd 
Th'  eclypse  and  glory  of  her  kind  ?  20 


VIII. 
THE   OLD  AND  YOUNG  COURTIER. 

^^HIS  excellent  old  song,  the  subject  of  which  is  a  com- 
parison between  the  manners  of  the  old  gentry,  as  still 
subsisting  in  the  times  of  EHzabeth,  and  the  modem 
refinements  affected  by  their  sons  in  the  reigns  of  her 
successors,  is  given,  with  corrections,  from  an  ancient  black-letter 
copy  in  the  Pepys  collection,  compared  with  another  printed  among 
some  miscellaneous  "poems  and  songs"  in  a  book  intitled,  Le 
Prince  d^amou7'^  or  The  Prince  of  Love^  1660,  8vo. 

[This  was  one  of  the  most  popular  of  old  songs,  and  Dr.  King 
in  his  Preface  to  the  Art  of  Cookery  places  it  by  the  side  of  Chevy 
Chase  as  one  of  the  ballads  to  be  hung  up  over  the  carved  mantel- 
piece in  the  homes  of  old  British  hospitality.  It  is  to  be  found  in 
broadside  in  nearly  all  the  collections,  and  appears  to  have  been 
printed  for  the  first  time  in  the  reign  of  James  I.  by  T.  Symcocke. 
Pepys  notices  it  in  his  Diary  under  the  date  i6th  June,  1668 — 
*'  Come  to  Newbery,  and  there  dined — and  musick  :  a  song  of  the 
old  Courtier  of  Queen  Elizabeth's,  and  how  he  was  changed  upon 
the  coming  in  of  the  King,  did  please  me  mightily,  and  I  did  cause 
W.  Hewer  to  write  it  out." 

The  song  was  parodied  and  altered  into  many  forms.  About 
the  middle  of  the  last  century  it  was  revived  and  sung  by  Mr. 
Vernon  in  Shadwell's  comedy.  The  Sqiiire  of  Alsaiia^  With,  a  new 


YOUNG    COURTIER.  315 

burden,  *'  moderation  and  alteration,"  and  finally  it  has  been  again 
revived  in  the  present  century,  with  still  greater  alterations,  under 
the  title  of  The  Old  English  Gentlc7nan. 

Mr.  Chappell  has  the  following  note  on  the  object  of  the  song: — 
"  Southey  remarks  very  justly  on  the  complaints  of  the  decay  of 
hospitality,  that  '  while  rents  were  received  in  kind  they  must 
have  been  chiefly  consumed  in  kind ;  at  least  there  could  be  no 
accumulation  of  disposable  wealth.'  He  supposes  this  mode  ot 
payment  to  have  fallen  generally  into  disuse  during  the  reign  of 
James  I.  Without  doubt,  many  of  the  poor  would  feel  the 
change."     Popular  Music  of  the  Olden  Time,  vol.  ii.  p.  778.] 


^^^  N  old  song  made  by  an  aged  old  pate, 

Of  an  old  worshipful  gentleman,  who  had 

a  greate  estate. 
That  kept  a  brave  old  house  at  a  bountiful 
rate. 
And  an  old  porter  to  relieve  the  poor  at  his  gate ; 
Like  an  old  courtier  of  the  queen's. 
And  the  queen's  old  courtier. 

With  an  old  lady,  whose  anger  one  word  asswages  ; 

They  every  quarter  paid  their  old  servants  their  wages, 

And  never  knew  what  belong'd  to  coachmen,  foot- 
men, nor  pages. 

But  kept   twenty  old   fellows  with  blue  coats  and 
badges ; 

Like  an  old  courtier,  &c. 

With  an  old  study  fill'd  full  of  learned  old  books. 
With  an  old  reverend  chaplain,  you  might  know  him 

by  his  looks. 
With  an  old  buttery  hatch  worn  quite  off  the  hooks. 
And  an  old  kitchen,  that  maintain'd  half  a  dozen  old 

cooks : 

Like  an  old  courtier,  &c. 


316  THE    OLD   AND 

With  an  old  hall,  hung  about  with  pikes,  guns,  and 

bows. 
With  old  swords,  and  bucklers,  that  had  borne  many 

shrewde  blows, 
And  an  old  frize  coat,  to  cover  his  worship's  trunk 

hose, 
And  a  cup  of  old  sherry,  to  comfort  his  copper  nose  ; 
Like  an  old  courtier,  &c. 

With  a  good  old  fashion,  when  Christmasse  was  come, 
To  call  in  all  his  old  neighbours  with  bagpipe  and 

drum. 
With  good  chear  enough  to  furnish  every  old  room, 
And  old  liquor  able  to  make  a  cat  speak,  and  man 

dumb, 

Like  an  old  courtier,  &c. 

With  an  old  falconer,  huntsman,   and   a  kennel  of 

hounds. 
That  never  hawked,  nor   hunted,   but  in  his   own 

grounds, 
Who,  like  a  wise  man,  kept  himself  within  his  own 

bounds. 
And  when  he  dyed  gave  every  child  a  thousand  good 

pounds ; 

Like  an  old  courtier,  &c. 

But  to  his  eldest  son  his  house  and  land  he  assign'd, 
Charging  him  in  his  will  to  keep  the  old  bountifull 

mind. 
To  be  good  to  his  old  tenants,  and  to  his  neighbours 

be  kind  : 
But  in  the  ensuing  ditty  you  shall  hear  how  he  was 
inclin'd  ; 

Like  a  young  courtier  of  the  king's, 
And  the  king's  young  courtier. 


YOUNG    COURTIER.  317 

Like  a  flourishing  young  gallant,  newly  come  to  his 
land, 

Who  keeps  a  brace  of  painted  madams  at  his  com- 
mand, 

And  takes  up  a  thousand  pound  upon  his  father's  land, 

And  gets  drunk  in  a  tavern,  till  he  can  neither  go  nor 
stand ; 

Like  a  young  courtier,  &c. 

With  a  new-fangled  lady,  thatisdainty,  nice,  and  spare, 
Who  never  knew  what  belonged  to  good  house-keep- 
ing, or  care, 
Who  buyes  gaudy-color'd  fans  to  play  with  wanton  air, 
And  seven  or  eight  different  dressings  of  other 
womens  hair ; 

Like  a  young  courtier,  &c. 

With  a  new-fashion'd  hall,  built  where  the  old  one 

stood, 
Hung  round  with  new  pictures,  that  do  the  poor  no 

good, 
With  a  fine  marble  chimney,  wherein  burns  neither 

coal  nor  wood. 
And  a  new  smooth  shovelboard,  whereon  no  victuals 

ne'er  stood  ; 

Like  a  young  courtier,  &c. 

With  a  new  study,  stuft  full  of  pamphlets,  and  plays, 
And  a  new  chaplain,  that  swears  faster  than  he  prays, 
With  a  new  buttery  hatch,  that  opens  once  in  four  or 

five  days. 
And  a  new  French  cook,  to  devise  fine  kickshaws, 

and  toys  ; 

Like  a  young  courtier,  &c. 

With  a  new  fashion,  when  Christmas  is  drawing  on. 
On  a  new  journey  to  London  straight  we  all  must 
begone, 


3i8         SIR    JOHN   SUCKLING'S 

And  leave  none  to  keep  house,  but  our  new  porter 

John, 
Who  reheves  the  poor  with  a  thump  on  the  back  with 

a  stone ; 

Like  a  young  courtier,  &c. 

With  a  new  gentleman-usher,  whose  carriage  is  com- 
pleat, 

With  a  new  coachman,  footmen,  and  pages  to  carry- 
up  the  meat, 

With  a  waiting-gentlewoman,  whose  dressing  is  very 
neat. 

Who  when  her  lady  has  din'd,  lets  the  servants  not 
eat ; 

Like  a  young  courtier,  &c. 

With  new  titles  of  honour  bought  with  his  father's 

old  gold. 
For  which  sundry  of  his  ancestors  old  manors  are 

sold  ; 
And  this  is  the  course  most  of  our  new  gallants  hold, 
Which  makes  that  good  house-keeping  is  now  grown 
so  cold. 

Among  the  young  courtiers  of  the  king, 
Or  the  king's  young  courtiers. 


IX. 

SIR  JOHN    SUCKLING'S   CAMPAIGNE. 

JHEN  the  Scottish  covenanters  rose  up  in  arms,  and 
advanced  to  the  English  borders  in  1639,  many  of 
the  courtiers  compHmented  the  king  by  raising  forces 
^W^^W^-^^  at  their  own  expence.  Among  these  none  were  more 
distinguished  than  the  gallant  Sir  John  SuckHng,  who  raised  a 
troop  of  horse,  so  richly  accoutred,  that  it  cost  him  ;^i  2,000. 
The  like  expensive  eciuipment  of  other  parts  of  the  army,  made 


CAMPAIGNE  319 

the  king  remark,  that  "  the  Scots  would  fight  stoutly,  if  it  were  but 
for  the  Englishmen's  fine  cloaths."  (Lloyd's  Memoirs.^  When 
ihey  came  to  action,  the  rugged  Scots  proved  more  than  a  match 
for  the  fine  shewy  English :  many  of  whom  behaved  remarkably 
ill,  and  among  the  rest  this  splendid  troop  of  Sir  John  Suckling's. 
This  humorous  pasquil  has  been  generally  supposed  to  have 
been  written  by  Sir  John,  as  a  banter  upon  himself.  Some  of  his 
contemporaries  however  attributed  it  to  Sir  John  Mennis,  a  wit  of 
those  times,  among  whose  poems  it  is  printed  in  a  small  poetical 
miscellany,  intitled,  Micsarum  delicice :  or  the  Muses  recreation, 
cofitaijiing  several  pieces  of  poetique  wit,  2d  edition. —  By  Sir  J.  M. 
{Sir  John  Mennis)  and  Ja.  S.  {James  Smith.)  Lond.  1656,  i2mo. — 
(See  Wood's  AthencE.  ii.  397,  418.)  In  that  copy  is  subjoined  an 
additional  stanza,  which  probably  was  written  by  this  Sir  John 
Mennis,  viz. : — 

*'  But  now  there  is  peace,  he's  return'd  to  increase 

His  money,  which  lately  he  spent-a. 
But  his  lost  honour  must  lye  still  in  the  dust ; 

At  Barwick  away  it  went-a." 

[This  song  is  a  parody  of  the  famous  old  song,  John  Dory,  com- 
mencing:— 

"  As  it  fell  on  a  holiday 

And  upon  a  holytide-a 
John  Dory  bought  him  an  ambling  nag 
To  Paris  for  to  ride-a." 

Suckling's  satirical  powers  made  him  peculiarly  odious  to  the 
Parliamentarians,  as  they  were  turned  against  them,  and  conse- 
quently Mennis's  lampoon  was  a  great  favourite  with  the  Round- 
heads. In  Le  Fri7ice  d^ Amour,  1660,  there  is  a  song  Upon  Sir 
John  Suckli7ig's  1 00  Horse,  and  the  following  are  two  of  the  seven 
stanzas  of  which  it  consists: — 

*•  I  tell  thee,  Jack,  thou  gav'st  the  king 
So  rare  a  present,  that  nothing 

Could  welcomer  have  been ; 
A  hundred  horse  !  beshrew  my  heart, 
It  was  a  brave  heroic  part. 

The  like  v/ill  scarce  be  seen. 

*'  For  ev'ry  horse  shall  have  on's  back 
A  man  as  valiant  as  Sir  Jack, 

Although  not  half  so  Avitty  : 
Yet  I  did  hear  the  other  day 
Two  tailors  made  seven  run  away 

Good  faith,  the  more's  the  pity.'* 


320        SIR    JOHN    SUCKLING'S 

The  uniform  adopted  by  Suckling  for  his  troop  consisted  of  a 
white  doublet,  and  scarlet  coat  and  breeches,  with  a  scarlet  feather 
in  the  bonnet.  The  men  were  vigorous,  well  mounted  and  armed, 
and  these  famous  loo  horsemen  were  considered  to  be  the  finest 
sight  in  his  majesty's  army.  Mr.  W.  C.  Hazlitt  points  out  that  the 
earliest  news  of  them  appears  to  be  in  a  letter  of  Jan.  29,  1638-9, 
from  the  Earl  of  Northumberland  to  Lord  Conway,  in  which  the 
writer  speaks  of  Suckling  having  then  engaged  himself  to  raise  the 
troop  *' within  these  three  days."  {Calendar  of  State  Papers  {Do- 
mestic^ 1638-9,  p.  378.)  The  army  was  badly  commanded,  and  no 
greater  disgrace  attached  to  Suckling's  troop  than  to  the  rest.] 


IR  JOHN  he  got  him  an  ambling  nag, 

To  Scotland  for  to  ride-a, 
With  a  hundred  horse  more,  all  his  own  he 
swore, 
To  guard  him  on  every  side-a. 

No  Errant-knight  ever  went  to  fight  5 

With  halfe  so  gay  a  bravada, 
Had  you  seen  but  his  look,  you'ld  have  -sworn  on  a 
book, 

Hee'ld  have  conquer  d  a  whole  armada. 

The  ladies  ran  all  to  the  w^indows  to  see 

So  gallant  and  warlike  a  sight-a,  10 

And  as  he  pass'd  by,  they  said  with  a  sigh. 
Sir  John,  why  will  you  go  fight-a  ? 

But  he,  like  a  cruel  knight,  spurr'd  on ; 

His  heart  would  not  relent-a, 
For,  till  he  came  there,  what  had  he  to  fear?  15 

Or  why  should  he  repent-a  ? 

The  king  (God  bless  him  !)  had  singular  hopes 

Of  him  and  all  his  troop-a  : 
The  borderers  they,  as  they  met  him  on  the  way, 

For  joy  did  hollow,  and  whoop-a.  20 


CAMPAIGNE,  321 

None  lik'd  him  so  well,  as  his  own  colonell, 

Who  took  him  for  John  de  Wert-a ; 
But  when  there  were  shows  of  gunning  and  blows, 

My  gallant  was  nothing  so  pert-a. 

For  when  the  Scots  army  came  within  sight,  x$ 

And  all  prepared  to  fight-a, 
He  ran  to  his  tent,  they  ask'd  what  he  meant, 

He  swore  he  must  needs  goe  sh*te-a. 

The  colonell  sent  for  him  back  agen, 

To  quarter  him  in  the  van-a,  30 

But  Sir  John  did  swear,  he  would  not  come  there, 

To  be  kill'd  the  very  first  man-a. 

To  cure  his  fear,  he  was  sent  to  the  reare, 

Some  ten  miles  back,  and  more-a ; 
Where  Sir  John  did  play  at  trip  and  away,  35 

And  ne'er  saw  the  enemy  more-a. 


X. 

TO  ALTHEA  FROM  PRISON. 

'HIS  excellent  sonnet,  which  possessed  a  high  degree  of 
fame  among  the  old  Cavaliers,  was  written  by  Colon e, 
Richard  Lovelace  during  his  confinement  in  the  gate, 
^'^^^^^^k  house,  Westminster  :  to  which  he  was  committed  by  the 
House  of  Commons,  in  April  1642,  for  presenting  a  petition  from 
the  county  of  Kent,  requesting  them  to  restore  the  king  to  his 
rights,  and  to  settle  the  government.  See  Wood's  Athence,  vol.  ii. 
p.  228,  and  Lysons'  Environs  of  London^  vol.  i.  p.  109  ;  where  may 
be  seen  at  large  the  affecting  story  of  this  elegant  writer,  who  after 

Ver.  22.  John  de  Wert-^djs.  a  German  general  of  great  reputation, 
and  the  terror  of  the  French  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XIH.  Hence 
his  name  became  proverbial  in  France,  where  he  was  called  De 
Vert.     See  Bayle's  Diet. 

2  V 


322     TO    ALTHEA    FROM  PRISON. 

4 

having  been  distinguished  for  every  gallant  and  polite  accomplish- 
ment, the  pattern  of  his  own  sex,  and  the  darling  of  the  ladies,  died 
in  the  lowest  wretchedness,  obscurity,  and  want,  in  1658. 

This  song  is  printed  from  a  scarce  volume  of  his  poems  intitled, 
Lucasta,  1649,  i2mo.  collated  with  a  copy  in  the  Editor's  folio 
MS. 

[As  Percy  mentions,  the  folio  MS.  collations  have  been  added 
from  it  (ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall,  vol.  ii.  p.  17),  but  it  will  at  once 
be  seen  that  they  are  of  little  value.  The  music  to  this  most 
exquisite  of  prison  songs  was  composed  by  the  celebrated  Dr.  John 
Wilson,  and  first  printed  (according  to  Dr.  Rimbault)  in  his  Cheerful 
Ay  res  or  Ballads  set  for  three  Voices^  Oxford,  1660. 

Lucasta  (zzLux  casta,  Lucy  Sacheverell),  misled  by  a  report  that 
Lovelace  had  died  of  his  wounds  received  at  Dunkirk  while  com- 
manding a  regiment  of  his  own  forming  in  the  service  of  the 
French  king,  married  another  lover. 

Although  doubtless  Lovelace  died  in  great  trouble,  we  may 
hope  that  Wood's  account  of  his  extreme  poverty  is  exaggerated, 
for  his  daughter  and  sole  heir  married  the  son  of  Lord  Chief  Justice 
Coke,  and  brought  to  her  husband  the  estates  of  her  father  at 
Kingsdown  in  Kent.] 


^HEN  love  with  unconfined  wings 
Hovers  within  my  gates. 
And  my  divine  Althea  brings 
To  whisper  at  my  grates ; 
When  I  lye  tangled  in  her  haire,  5 

And  fetter'd  with  her  eye, 
The  birds  that  wanton  in  the  aire, 
Know  no  such  libertye. 

When  flowing  cups  run  swiftly  round 

With  no  allaying  Thames,  10 

Our  carelesse  heads  with  roses  crown'd, 
Our  hearts  with  loyal  flames ; 


[Ver.  8,  16,  24.  enjoyes  such  lybertye,  MS.]     V.  10.  with  woe- 
allaying  theames,  MS.     Thames  is  here  used  for  water  in  general. 


TO    ALTHEA    FROM  PRISON.     323 

When  thirsty  griefe  in  wine  we  steepe, 
When  healths  and  draughts  goe  free, 

Fishes,  that  tipple  in  the  deepe,  1 5 

Know  no  such  libertie. 

When,  linnet-like,  confined  I 

With  shriller  note  shall  sing 
The  mercye,  sweetness,  majestye, 

And  glories  of  my  king  ;  20 

When  I  shall  voyce  aloud  how  good 

He  is,  how  great  should  be, 
Th'  enlarged  windes,  that  curie  the  flood, 

Know  no  such  libertie. 

Stone  walls  doe  not  a  prison  make,  25 

Nor  iron  barres  a  cage, 
Mindes,  innocent,  and  quiet,  take 

That  for  an  hermitage  : 
If  I  have  freedom  in  my  love. 

And  in  my  soule  am  free,  30 

Angels  alone,  that  soare  above. 

Enjoy  such  libertie. 


XL 
THE  DOWNFALL  OF  CHARING-CROSS. 

IHARING-CROSS,  as  it  stood  before  the  civil  wars,  was 
one  of  those  beautiful  Gothic  obelisks  erected  to  con- 
jugal affection  by  Edward  I.,  who  built  such  a  one 
wherever  the  herse  of  his  beloved  Eleanor  rested  in 
its  way  from  Lincolnshire  to  Westminster.  But  neither  its  orna- 
mental situation,  the  beauty  of  its  structure,  nor  the  noble  design 

[Ver.  13.  thirsty  soules,  MS.  V.  14.  when  cupps  and  bowles  goe 
free.  V.19.  the  mercy,  goodnesse,  maiestye.  V.  20.  glory.  V.  23. 
curies  the  floods.  V.  27.  the  spotlesse  soule  and  inocent. 
V.  28.  Calls  this  an.  V  31.  sores.  V.  32.  enjoyes.  The  second 
and  third  stanzas  are  transposed  in  the  MS.] 


324  THE    DOWNFALL    OF 

of  its  erection  (which  did  honour  to  humanity),  could  preserve  it 
from  the  merciless  zeal  of  the  times:  For,  in  1647,  it  was  de- 
mohshed  by  order  of  the  House  of  Commons,  as  popish  and 
superstitious.  This  occasioned  the  following  not  unhumorous 
sarcasm,  which  has  been  often  printed  among  the  popular  sonnets 
of  those  times. 

The  plot  referred  to  in  ver.  17,  was  that  entered  into  by  Mr. 
Waller  the  poet,  and  others,  with  a  view  to  reduce  the  city  and 
tower  to  the  service  of  the  king ;  for  which  two  of  them,  Nath. 
Tomkins  and  Rich.  Chaloner,  suffered  death  July  5,  1643.  ^id- 
Ath.  Ox.  ii.  24. 

VVhitlocke  says,  "  May  3,  1643,  Cheapside  cross  and  other 
crosses  were  voted  down,''  &c. — But  this  Vote  was  not  put  in 
execution  with  regard  to  Charing  Cross  till  four  years  after,  as- 
appears  from  Lilly's  Observations  on  the  Life,  &=€.  of  K.  Charles, 
viz.  "  Charing-Cross,  we  know,  was  pulled  down,  1647,  in  June, 
July,  and  August.  Part  of  the  Stones  were  converted  to  pave 
before  Whitehall.  I  have  seen  Knife-hafts  made  of  some  of  the 
stones,  which,  being  well-polished,  looked  like  marble."  Ed.  1715^ 
p.  18,  i2mo. 

[In  Laud's  Diary  it  is  written,  *'  1643  Maii  2  Tuesday  The 
cross  in  Cheapside  taken  down."] 

See  an  Account  of  the  pulling  down  Cheapside  Cross,  in  the 
Supplement  to  Gent.  Mag.  1764. 

[Charing  Cross  was  the  largest  and  most  beautiful  of  the  series 
of  Eleanor  crosses,  and  the  architects  employed  in  the  construction 
of  it  were  paid  £,^^0.  The  work  was  formerly  attributed  to 
Cavalini,  but  that  artist  was  not  born  until  the  year  1279,  and 
was  therefore  about  eleven  years  old  when  the  Queen  died.  Since 
the  publication  of  the  very  interesting  rolls  of  payments  made  by  the 
executors  of  Queen  Eleanor  {Manners  and  Household  Expenses  of 
England  i7i  the  iph  and  i^th  centiti'ies.  Roxburghe  Club,  1841), 
it  has  been  known  that  Charing  Cross  was  commenced  by  Richard 
de  Crundale  and  completed,  after  his  death,  by  Roger  de  Crun- 
dale. 

The  site  of  the  old  cross  was  made  use  of  as  a  place  of  execu- 
tion, and  several  of  the  regicides  were  put  to  death  there. 

The  Cheapside  cross,  which  was  taken  down  in  1643,  was  the 
third  which  occupied  the  site,  and  it  had  only  been  erected  in  1600. 
The  original  cross  was  found  to  be  in  a  bad  condition  in  1441, 
and  a  new  one  was  therefore  commenced,  which  was  not  finished 
until  i486.     This  was  replaced  in  1600  by  the  third  cross. 

Dr.  Rimbault  informs  us  that  this  ballad  is  printed  with  the 
music  for  three  voices  by  "  Mr.  F.  Farmeloe "  in  ''  The  Second 
Book  of  the  Pleasant  Musical  Companion"  1687.] 


CHARING-CROSS.  325 


NDONE,  undone  the  lawyers  are, 
They  wander  about  the  towne, 
Nor  can  find  the  way  to  Westminster, 
Now  Charlng-cross  Is  downe  : 
At  the  end  of  the  Strand,  they  make  a  stand,        5 

Swearing  they  are  at  a  loss. 
And  chaffing  say,  that's  not  the  way, 
They  must  go  by  Charing-cross. 

The  parliament  to  vote  it  down 

Conceived  it  very  fitting,  10 

For  fear  it  should  fall,  and  kill  them  all, 

In  the  house,  as  they  were  sitting. 
They  were  told  god- wot,  it  had  a  plot. 

Which  made  them  so  hard-hearted, 
To  give  command,  it  should  not  stand,  15 

But  be  taken  down  and  carted. 

Men  talk  of  plots,  this  might  have  been  worse 

For  any  thing  I  know, 
Than  that  Tomkins,  and  Chaloner, 

Were  hang'd  for  long  agoe.  zo 

Our  parliament  did  that  prevent. 

And  wisely  them  defended. 
For  plots  they  will  discover  still, 

Before  they  were  intended. 

But  neither  man,  woman,  nor  child,  ^5 

Will  say,  I'm  confident, 
They  ever  heard  it  speak  one  word 

Against  the  parliament. 
An  informer  swore,  it  letters  bore. 

Or  else  it  had  been  freed  ;  jo 

I'll  take,  in  troth,  my  Bible  oath. 

It  could  neither  write,  nor  read. 


326  LOYALTY   CONFINED, 

The  committee  said,  that  verily 

To  popery  it  was  bent ; 
For  ought  I  know,  it  might  be  so,  35 

For  to  church  it  never  went. 
What  with  excise,  and  such  device, 

The  kingdom  doth  begin 
To  think  you'll  leave  them  ne*er  a  cross. 

Without  doors  nor  within.  a.o 

Methinks  the  common-council  shou'd 

Of  it  have  taken  pity, 
'Cause,  good  old  cross,  it  always  stood 

So  firmly  to  the  city. 
Since  crosses  you  so  much  disdain,  45 

Faith,  if  I  were  as  you. 
For  fear  the  king  should  rule  again, 

rd  pull  down  Tiburn  too. 


XII. 
LOYALTY  CONFINED. 

^HIS  excellent  old  song  is  preserved  in  David  Lloyd's 
Memoires  of  those  that  suffei'ed  m  the  cause  of  Charles  I, 
Lond.  1668,  fol.  p.  96.  He  speaks  of  it  as  the  com- 
position of  a  worthy  personage,  who  suffered  deeply  in 
those  times,  and  was  still  Hving  with  no  other  reward  than  the 
conscience  of  having  suffered.  The  author's  name  he  has  not 
mentioned,  but,  if  tradition  may  be  credited,  this  song  was  written 
by  Sir  Roger  L^ Estrange. — Some  mistakes  in  Lloyd's  copy  are 
corrected  by  two  others,  one  in  MS.  the  other  in  the  Westminster 
Drollery^  or  a  choice  Collection  of  Songs  and  Poems,  167 1,  12 mo. 

[The  ascription  of  this  song  to  L'Estrange  is  improbable,  and  we 
must  therefore  seek  elsewhere  for  an  authorj 


LOYALTY   CONFINED.  327 


^EAT  on,  proud  billows;  Boreas  blow  ; 
Swell,  curled  waves,    high  as  Jove's 
roof  ; 
Your  incivility  doth  show, 
That  innocence  is  tempest  proof ; 
Though  surly  Nereus  frown,  my  thoughts  are  calm  ;   5 
Then  strike,  Affliction,  for  thy  wounds  are  balm. 

That  which  the  world  miscalls  a  jail, 

A  private  closet  is  to  me : 
Whilst  a  good  conscience  is  my  bail, 

And  innocence  my  liberty  :  10 

Locks,  bars,  and  solitude,  together  met. 
Make  me  no  prisoner,  but  an  anchoret. 

I,  whilst  I  wisht  to  be  retir  d, 

Into  this  private  room  was  turn'd  ; 
As  if  their  wisdoms  had  conspir'd  25 

The  salamander  should  be  burn'd  ; 
Or  like  those  sophists,  that  would  drown  a  fish, 
I  am  constrained  to  suffer  what  I  wish. 

The  cynick  loves  his  poverty ; 

The  pelican  her  wilderness  ;  20 

And  'tis  the  Indian's  pride  to  be 
Naked  on  frozen  Caucasus  : 
Contentment  cannot  smart,  Stoicks  we  see 
Make  torments  easie  to  their  apathy. 

These  manacles  upon  my  arm  25 

I,  as  my  mistress'  favours,  wear; 
And  for  to  keep  my  ancles  warm, 
I  have  some  iron  shackles  there  : 
These  walls  are  but  my  garrison  ;  this  cell, 
Which  men  call  jail,  doth  prove  my  citadel.  30 


328  LOYALTY   CONFINED. 

rm  in  the  cabinet  lockt  up, 

Like  some  high-prized  margarite/ 
Or,  like  the  great  mogul  or  pope, 

Am  cloyster  d  up  from  publick  sight : 
Retiredness  is  a  piece  of  majesty,  w 

And  thus,  proud  sultan,  I'm  as  great  as  thee. 

Here  sin  for  want  of  food  must  starve. 

Where  tempting  objects  are  not  seen  ; 
And  these  strong  walls  do  only  serve 

To  keep  vice  out,  and  keep  me  in  :  4-0 

Malice  of  late's  grown  charitable  sure, 
I'm  not  committed,  but  am  kept  secure. 

So  he  that  struck  at  Jason's  life,*^ 

Thinking  t'  have  made  his  purpose  sure. 
By  a  malicious  friendly  knife  45 

Did  only  wound  him  to  a  cure  : 
Malice,  I  see,  wants  wit ;  for  what  is  meant 
Mischief,  oft-times  proves  favour  by  th'  event. 

When  once  my  prince  affliction  hath, 

Prosperity  doth  treason  seem  ;  50 

And  to  make  smooth  so  rough  a  path, 
I  can  learn  patience  from  him  : 
Now  not  to  suffer  shews  no  loyal  heart. 
When  kings  want  ease  subjects  must  bear  a  part. 

What  though  I  cannot  see  my  king  55 

Neither  in  person  or  in  coin ; 
Yet  contemplation  is  a  thing 

That  renders  what  I  have  not,  mine ; 
My  king  from  me  what  adamant  can  part, 
W^hom  I  do  wear  engraven  on  my  heart  .-^  60 


*  See  this  remarkable  story  in  Cicero  de  Nat.  Deoruin,  I'b.  3, 
G.  28.    Cic.  de  Offic.  lib.  i,  c.  303  see  also  Val.  Max,  i,  8 

[1  pearl.] 


LOYALTY    CONFINED.  329 

Have  you  not  seen  the  nightingale, 
A  prisoner  like,  coopt  in  a  cage, 
How  doth  she  chaunt  her  wonted  tale 
In  that  her  narrow  hermitage  ? 
Even  then  her  charming  melody  doth  prove,       65 
That  all  her  bars  are  trees,  her  cage  a  grove. 

I  am  that  bird,  whom  they  combine 

Thus  to  deprive  of  liberty  ; 
But  though  they  do  my  corps  confine, 

Yet  maugre  hate,  my  soul  is  free  :  70 

And  though  immur'd,  yet  can  I  chirp,  and  sing 
Disgrace  to  rebels,  glory  to  my  king. 

My  soul  is  free,  as  ambient  air. 

Although  my  baser  part's  immew'd, 
Whilst  loyal  thoughts  do  still  repair  75 

T'  accompany  my  solitude  : 
Although  rebellion  do  my  body  binde, 
My  king  alone  can  captivate  my,  minde. 


xni. 

VERSES    BY    K.    CHARLES   I. 

^HIS  prince,  like  his  father,  did  not  confine  himself  to 
prose:  Bishop  Burnet  has  given  us  a  pathetic  elegy, 
said  to  be  written  by  Charles  in  Carisbrook  castle  (in 
1648).  The  poetry  is  most  uncouth  and  unharmonious, 
but  there  are  strong  thoughts  in  it,  some  good  sense,  and  a  strain 
of  majestic  piety."  Mr.  Walpole's  Royal  and  Noble  Authors^  vol.  i. 
It  is  in  his  Memoii's  of  the  Duke  of  Hamilton,  p.  379,  that  Burnet 
hath  preserved  this  elegy,  which  he  tells  us  he  had  from  a  gentle- 
man, who  waited  on  the  king  at  the  time  when  it  was  written,  and 
copied  it  out  from  the  original.  It  is  there  intitled,  Majesty  in 
Misery  :  or  An  Imploration  to  the  King  of  King^. 

Hume  hath  remarked  of  these  stanzas,  "  that  the  truth  of  the 
sentiment,  rather  than  the  elegance  of  the  expression,  renders  them 


330     VERSES  BY   K.    CHARLES   L 

very  pathetic."  See  his  Hist.  1763,  410.  vol.  v.  pp.  437,  442, 
which  is  no  bad  comment  upon  them. — These  are  almost  the  only- 
verses  known  of  Charles's  composition.  Indeed  a  little  Poem 
On  a  quiet  Conscience,  printed  in  the  Poetical  Calendar,  1763, 
vol.  viii.  is  attributed  to  K.  Charles  I. ;  being  reprinted  from  a 
thin  8vo.  published  by  Nahum  Tate,  called  Miscellanea  Sacra,  or 
Poems  on  Divine  and  Mo7-al  Subjects. 


'RE  AT  monarch  of  the  world,  from  whose 
power  springs 
The  potency  and  power  of  kings, 
Record  the  royal  woe  my  suffering  sings  ; 

And  teach  my  tongue,  that  ever  did  confine 

Its  faculties  in  truth's  seraphick  line,  5 

To  track  the  treasons  of  thy  foes  and  mine. 

Nature  and  law,  by  thy  divine  decree, 
(The  only  root  of  righteous  royaltie) 
With  this  dim  diadem  invested  me  : 

With  it,  the  sacred  scepter,  purple  robe,  10 

The  holy  unction,  and  the  royal  globe : 
Yet  am  I  levell'd  with  the  life  of  Job. 

The  fiercest  furies,  that  do  daily  tread 

Upon  my  grief,  my  grey  discrowned  head, 

Are  those  that  owe  my  bounty  for  their  bread.         15 

They  raise  a  war,  and  christen  it  the  cause, 
While  sacrilegious  hands  have  best  applause, 
Plunder  and  murder  are  the  kingdom's  laws ; 

Tyranny  bears  the  title  of  taxation, 

Revenge  and  robbery  are  reformation,  to 

Oppression  gains  the  name  of  sequestration. 

My  loyal  subjects,  who  in  this  bad  season 
Attend  me  (by  the  law  of  God  and  reason), 
They  dare  impeach,  and  punish  for  high  treason. 


VERSES   BY  K,   CHARLES   /.     331 

Next  at  the  clergy  do  their  furies  frown,  45 

Pious  episcopacy  must  go  down, 

They  will  destroy  the  crosier  and  the  crown. 

Churchmen  are  chain'd,  and  schismaticks  are  freed, 

Mechanicks  preach,  and  holy  fathers  bleed, 

The  crown  is  crucified  with  the  creed.  30 

The  church  of  England  doth  all  factions  foster, 
The  pulpit  is  usurpt  by  each  impostor. 
Extempore  excludes  the  Paternoster, 

The  Presbyter,  and  Independent  seed 

Springs  with  broad  blades.     To  make  religion  bleed 

Herod  and  Pontius  Pilate  are  agreed.  36 

The  corner  stone's  misplac'd  by  every  pavier : 
With  such  a  bloody  method  and  behaviour 
Their  ancestors  did  crucifie  our  Saviour. 

My  royal  consort,  from  whose  fruitful  womb  40 

So  many  princes  legally  have  come, 
Is  forc'd  in  pilgrimage  to  seek  a  tomb. 

Great  Britain's  heir  is  forced  into  France, 

Whilst  on  his  father's  head  his  foes  advance : 

Poor  child !  he  weeps  out  his  inheritance.  45 

With  my  own  power  my  majesty  they  wound, 
In  the  king's  name  the  king  himself 's  uncrown'd  : 
So  doth  the  dust  destroy  the  diamond. 

With  propositions  daily  they  enchant 

My  people's  ears,  such  as  do  reason  daunt,  50 

And  the  Almighty  will  not  let  me  grant. 

They  promise  to  erect  my  royal  stem. 
To  make  me  great,  t'  advance  my  diadem, 
If  I  will  first  fall  down,  and  worship  them ! 


ZZ2     THE    SALE    OF   REBELLIOUS 

But  for  refusal  they  devour  my  thrones,  ss 

Distress  my  children,  and  destroy  my  bones  ; 
I  fear  they'll  force  me  to  make  bread  of  stones. 

My  life  they  prize  at  such  a  slender  rate, 

That  in  my  absence  they  draw  bills  of  hate, 

To  prove  the  king  a  traytor  to  the  state.  60 

Felons  obtain  more  privilege  than  I, 
They  are  allow'd  to  answer  ere  they  die ; 
'Tis  death  for  me  to  ask  the  reason,  why. 

But,  sacred  Saviour,  with  thy  words  I  woo 

Thee  to  forgive,  and  not  be  bitter  to  65 

Such,  as  thou  know'st  do  not  know  what  they  do. 

For  since  they  from  their  lord  are  so  disjointed, 
As  to  contemn  those  edicts  he  appointed. 
How  can  they  prize  the  power  of  his  anointed  ? 

Augment  my  patience,  nullifie  my  hate,  70 

Preserve  my  issue,  and  inspire  my  mate. 

Yet,  though  we  perish,  bless  this  church  and  state. 


XIV. 

THE    SALE    OF    REBELLIOUS 
HOUSHOLD-STUFF. 

"HIS  sarcastic  exultation  of  triumphant  loyalty,  is  printed 
from  an  old  black-letter  copy  in  the  Pepys  collection, 
corrected  by  two  others,  one  of  which  is  preserved  in 
A  choice  collection  0/120  loyal  songs,  d^c.  1684,  12 mo. — 
To  the  tune  of  Old  Simojt  the  king. 

[This  triumph  over  the  downfall  of  the  Rump  Parliament  is  one 
of  the  best  of  the  numerous  songs  that  were  set  to  the  favourite 
tune  of  Old  Simon  the  King,  the  full  burden  of  which  is — 


HO  USHO  LD-S  TUFF, 


333 


"  Says  old  Sir  Symon  the  King, 
Says  old  Sir  Symon  the  King, 
With  his  threadbare  clothes 
And  his  malmsey  nose 
Sing  hey  ding,  ding  a  ding,  ding.'*] 


EBELLION  hath  broken  up  house, 
And  hath  left  me  old  lumber  to  sell ; 
Come  hither,  and  take  your  choice, 
I'll  promise  to  use  you  well  : 
Will  you  buy  the  old  speaker  s  chair  ?  5 

Which  was  warm  and  easie  to  sit  in, 
And  oft  hath  been  clean'd  I  declare, 
When  as  it  was  fouler  than  fitting. 

Says  old  Simon  the  king,  &c. 

Will  you  buy  any  bacon-flitches,  10 

The  fattest,  that  ever  were  spent? 
They're  the  sides  of  the  old  committees, 

Fed  up  in  the  long  parliament. 
Here's  a  pair  of  bellows,  and  tongs. 

And  for  a  small  matter  I'll  sell  ye  'um ;  15 

They  are  made  of  the  presbyters  lungs. 

To  blow  up  the  coals  of  rebellion. 
Says  old  Simon,  &c. 

I  had  thought  to  have  given  them  once 

To  some  black-smith  for  his  forge ;  ao 

But  now  I  have  considered  on't, 

They  are  consecrate  to  the  church  : 
So  I'll  give  them  unto  some  quire. 

They  will  make  the  big  organs  roar, 
And  the  little  pipes  to  squeeke  higher,  7.^ 

Than  ever  they  could  before. 
Says  old  Simon,  &c. 


334     THE    SALE    OF   REBELLIOUS 

Here's  a  couple  of  stools  for  sale, 

One's  square,  and  t'other  is  round  ; 
Betwixt  them  both  the  tail  30 

Of  the  Rump  fell  down  to  the  ground. 
Will  you  buy  the  states  council-table, 

Which  was  made  of  the  good  wain  Scot? 
The  frame  was  a  tottering  Babel 

To  uphold  the  Independent  plot,  3,., 

Says  old  Simon,  &:c. 

Here's  the  beesom  of  Reformation, 

Which  should  have  made  clean  the  floor, 
But  it  swept  the  wealth  out  of  the  nation, 

And  left  us  dirt  good  store.  40 

Will  you  buy  the  states  spinning-wheel. 

Which  spun  for  the  ropers  trade? 
But  better  it  had  stood  still. 

For  now  it  has  spun  a  fair  thread. 

Says  old  Simon,  &c.  4  5 

Here's  a  glyster-pipe  well  try'd. 

Which  was  made  of  a  butcher's  stump,* 
And  has  been  safely  apply'd, 

To  cure  the  colds  of  the  rump. 
Here's  a  lump  of  Pilgrims-Salve,  50 

Which  once  was  a  justice  of  peace, 
Who  Noll  and  the  Devil  did  serve ; 

But  now  it  is  come  to  this. 
Says  old  Simon,  &c. 

Here's  a  roll  of  the  states  tobacco,  ss 

If  any  good  fellow  will  take  it ; 
No  Virginia  had  e'er  such  a  smack-o, 

And  I'll  tell  you  how  they  did  make  it : 


*  Alluding  probably  to  Major-General  Harrison  a  butcher's  son, 
who  assisted  Cromwell  in  turning  out  the  long  parliament,  April  20, 
T6.S3. 


HOUSHOLD-STUFF.  335 

'Tis  th'  Engagement,  and  Covenant  cookt 
Up  with  the  Abjuration  oath  ;  ^o 

And  many  of  them,  that  have  took't, 
Complain  it  was  foul  in  the  mouth. 
Says  old  Simon,  &c. 

Yet  the  ashes  may  happily  serve 

To  cure  the  scab  of  the  nation,  65 

Whene'er  't  has  an  itch  to  swerve 

To  Rebellion  by  innovation. 
A  Lanthorn  here  is  to  be  bought, 

The  like  was  scarce  ever  gotten, 
For  many  plots  it  has  found  out  70 

Before  they  ever  were  thought  on. 
Says  old  Simon,  &c. 

Will  you  buy  the  rump's  great  saddle, 

With  which  it  jocky'd  the  nation  ? 
And  here  is  the  bitt,  and  the  bridle,  75 

And  curb  of  Dissimulation  : 
And  here's  the  trunk-hose  of  the  rump, 

And  their  fair  dissembling  cloak; 
And  a  Presbyterian  jump, 

With  an  Independent  smock.  80 

Says  old  Simon,  &:c. 

Will  you  buy  a  Conscience  oft  turn'd, 

Which  serv'd  the  high-court  of  justice, 
And  stretch'd  until  England  it  mourn'd  : 

But  Hell  will  buy  that  if  the  worst  is.  85 

Here's  Joan  Cromwell's  kitching-stuff  tub, 

Wherein  is  the  fat  of  the  Rumpers, 
With  which  old  Noll's  horns  she  did  rub. 

When  he  was  got  drunk  with  false  bumpers. 
Says  old  Simon,  &c.  90 


Ver.  86.  'Iliis  was  a  cant  name  given  to  Cromwel'fs  wife  by  the 
Royalists,  though  her  name  was  EHzabeth.    She  was  taxed  *'i*b 


336       THE    BAFFLED    KNIGHT. 

Here's  the  purse  of.  the  pubHc  faith  ; 

Here's  the  model  of  the  Sequestration, 
When  the  old  wives  upon  their  good  troth, 

Lent  thimbles  to  ruine  the  nation. 
Here's  Dick  Cromwell's  Protectorship,  95 

And  here  are  Lambert's  commissions,  . 
And  here  is  Hugh  Peters  his  scrip 

Cramm'd  with  the  tumultuous  Petitions 
Says  old  Simon,  &c. 

And  here  are  old  Noll's  brewing  vessels,         loa 

And  here  are  his  dray,  and  his  slings  ; 
•  Here  are  Hewson's  awl,  and  his  bristles ; 

With  diverse  other  odd  things  : 
And  what  is  the  price  doth  belong 

To  all  these  matters  before  ye  ?  105 

I'll  sell  them  all  for  an  old  song, 
And  so  I  do  end  my  story. 
Says  old  Simon,  &c. 


XV. 

THE    BAFFLED    KNIGHT,    OR   LADY'S 

POLICY. 

^^IVEN  (with  some  corrections)  from  a  MS.  copy,  and 
collated  with  two  printed  ones  in  Roman  character  in 
the  Pepys  collection. 

[There  are  several  versions  of  this  story,  but  the  earliest  known 
to  Mr.  Chappell  is  the  one  printed  by  Ritson  in  his  Ancient  Songs 
(vol.  ii.  ed.  1829,  p.  54),  beginnmg — 


exchanging  the  kitchen-stuff  for  the  candles  used  in  the  Protector's 
houshold,  &c.     See  Gent.  Mag.  for  March,  1788,  p.  242. 

Ver.  94.  See  Grey's  Hiidibras^  pt.  i.  cant.  2,  ver.  570,  &c. 
V.  100,  102.  Cromwell  had  in  his  younger  years  followed  the 
brewing  trade  at  Huntingdon.  Col.  Hewson  is  said  to  have  been 
originally  a  cobler. 


OR    LADY'S   POLICY,  337 

"  Yonder  comes  a  courteous  knight," 

with  the  burden,  Then  she  sang  Doivne  a  downe,  hey  dtnvne  deny. 
It  is  from  D enter onielia,  or  the  seco?id  part  of  Musicks  welodie  or 
melodious  Afusicke,  London,  1609.  Others  are  in  Fills  to  purge 
Mela7tcholy  (iii.  1707,  or  v.  17 19),  and  in  A  Complete  Collection 
of  old  and  neiv  English  and  Scotch  Songs,  8vo.,  1735.  The  copy  in 
the  Roxburghe  collection  is  entitled  The  Politick  Maid,  beginning 
*'  There  was  a  knight  was  wine  dronke."  Ritson  says,  "  Bp.  Percy 
found  the  subject  worthy  of  his  best  improvements."] 


g^^^^HERE  was  a  knight  was  drunk  with  wine, 
S^  ^^        A  ridino-  alon^  the  way,  sir  ; 


way, 
1^  |;^^   And  there  he  met  with  a  lady  fine, 
^^        Among  the  cocks  of  hay,  sir. 


Shall  you  and  I,  O  lady  faire,  5 

Among  the  grass  lye  down-a  : 
And  I  will  have  a  special  care 

Of  rumpling  of  your  gowne-a. 

Upon  the  grass  there  is  a  dewe, 

Will  spoil  my  damask  gowne,  sir ;  10 

My  gowne,  and  kirtle  they  are  newe, 

And  cost  me  many  a  crowne,  sir. 

1  have  a  cloak  of  scarlet  red, 

Upon  the  ground  I'll  throwe  it ; 
Then,  lady  faire,  come  lay  thy  head  ;  15 

We'll  play,  and  none  shall  knowe  it. 

O  yonder  stands  my  steed  so  free 

Among  the  cocks  of  hay,  sir  ; 
And  if  the  pinner'  should  chance  to  see, 

He'll  take  my  steed  away,  sir.  ao 

Upon  my  finger  I  have  a  ring, 

Is  made  of  finest  gold-a  ; 
And,  lady,  it  thy  steed  shall  bring 

Out  of  the  pinner's  fold-a. 

[•  pinder  or  impounder  of  cattle. j 

2  Z 


338       THE    BAFFLED   KNIGHT, 

O  go  with  me  to  my  father's  hall ;  25 

Fair  chambers  there  are  three,  sir :  . 

And  you  shall  have  the  best  of  all, 
And  I'll  your  chamberlaine  bee,  sir. 

He  mounted  himself  on  his  steed  so  tall, 

And  her  on  her  dapple  gray,  sir :  30 

And  there  they  rode  to  her  father's  hall, 
Fast  pricking  along  the  way,  sir. 

To  her  father's  hall  they  arrived  strait ; 

'Twas  moated  round  about-a ; 
She  slipped  herself  within  the  gate,  35 

And  lockt  the  knight  without-a. 

Here  is  a  silver  penny  to  spend, 

And  take  it  for  your  pain,  sir ; 
And  two  of  my  father's  men  I'll  send 

To  wait  on  you  back  again,  sir.  40 

He  from  his  scabbard  drew  his  brand, 

And  wiped  it  upon  his  sleeve-a : 
And  cursed,  he  said,  be  every  man, 

That  will  a  maid  believe-a ! 

She  drew  a  bodkin  from  her  haire,  45 

And  whip'd  it  upon  her  gown-a ; 

And  curs'd  be  every  maiden  faire, 
That  will  with  men  lye  down-a ! 

A  herb  there  is,  that  lowly  grows. 

And  some  do  call  it  rue,  sir :  50 

The  smallest  dunghill  cock  that  crows, 

Would  make  a  capon  of  you,  sir. 

A  flower  there  is,  that  shineth  bright, 

Some  call  it  mary  gold-a  ; 
He  that  wold  not  when  he  might,  ^-^ 

He  shall  not  when  he  wold-a. 


OR    LADY'S   POLICY,  339 

The  knight  was  riding  another  day, 

With  cloak  and  hat  and  feather  : 
He  met  again  with  that  lady  gay, 

Who  was  anMIno-  in  the  river.  60 

Now,  lady  faire,  I've  met  with  you, 

You  shall  no  more  escape  me ; 
Remember,  how  not  long  agoe 

You  falsely  did  Intrap  me. 

The  lady  blushed  scarlet  red,  65 

And  trembled  at  the  stranger  : 
How  shall  I  guard  my  maidenhead 

From  this  approaching  danger  ? 

He  from  his  saddle  down  did  light. 

In  all  his  riche  attyer ;  /o 

And  cryed,  As  I  am  a  noble  knight, 

I  do  thy  charms  admyer. 

He  took  the  lady  by  the  hand, 

Who  seemingly  consented  ; 
And  would  no  more  disputing  stand :  75 

She  had  a  plot  invented. 

Looke  yonder,  good  sir  knight,  I  pray, 

Methlnks  I  now  discover 
A  riding  upon  his  dapple  gray. 

My  former  constant  lover.  80 

On  tip-toe  peering  stood  the  kniglit. 

Fast  by  the  rivers  brink-a  ; 
The  lady  pusht  with  all  her  might : 

Sir  knight,  now  swim  or  sink-a. 

O'er  head  and  ears  he  plunged  in,  85 

The  bottom  faire  he  sounded ; 
Then  rising  up,  he  cried  amain. 

Help,  helpe,  or  else  I'm  drownded  ! 


340       THE    BAFFLED    KNIGHT. 

Now,  fare-you-well,  sir  knight,  adieu  ! 

You  see  what  comes  of  fooHng  :  90 

That  is  the  fittest  place  for  you  ; 

Your  courage  wanted  cooHng. 

Ere  many  days,  in  her  fathers  park, 

Just  at  the  close  of  eve-a. 
Again  she  met  with  her  angry  sparke ;  95 

Which  made  this  lady  grieve-a. 

False  lady,  here  thou'rt  in  my  powre, 

And  no  one  now  can  hear  thee  : 
And  thou  shalt  sorely  rue  the  hour, 

That  e'er  thou  dar  dst  to  jeer  me.  100 

I  pray,  sir  knight,  be  not  so  warm 

With  a  young  silly  maid-a  : 
I  vow  and  swear  I  thought  no  harm, 

*Twas  a  gentle  jest  I  playd-a. 

A  gentle  jest,  in  soothe  !  he  cry'd,  105 

To  tumble  me  in  and  leave  me  : 
What  if  I  had  in  the  river  dyM  ? 

That  fetch  will  not  deceive  me. 

Once  more  Fll  pardon  thee  this  day, 

Tho'  injur'd  out  of  measure  ;  no 

But  then  prepare  without  delay 
To  yield  thee  to  my  pleasure. 

Well  then,  if  I  must  grant  your  suit. 
Yet  think  of  your  boots  and  spurs,  si**  • 

Let  me  pull  off  both  spur  and  boot,  115 

Or  else  you  cannot  stir,  sir. 

He  set  him  down  upon  the  grass. 
And  begg'd  her  kind  assistance  : 

Now,  smiling  thought  this  lovely  lass, 

ril  make  you  keep  your  distance.  12a 


OR    LADY'S    POLICY,  341 

Then  pulling  off  his  boots  half-way  ; 

Sir  knight,  now  I'm  your  betters  : 
You  shall  not  make  of  me  your  prey  ; 

Sit  there  like  a  knave  in  fetters. 

The  knight  when  she  had  served  soe,  1x5 

He  fretted,  fum'd,  and  grumbled  : 

For  he  could  neither  stand  nor  goe, 
But  like  a  cripple  tumbled. 

Farewell,  sir  knight,  the  clock  strikes  ten, 
Yet  do  not  move  nor  stir,  sir  :  130 

ril  send  you  my  fathers  serving  men, 
To  pull  off  your  boots  and  spurs,  sir. 

This  merry  jest  you  must  excuse, 

You  are  but  a  stingless  nettle  : 
You'd  never  have  stood  for  boots  or  shoes,     ^-35 

Had  you  been  a  man  of  mettle. 

All  night  in  grievous  rage  he  lay. 

Rolling  upon  the  plain-a  ; 
Next  morning  a  shepherd  past  that  way, 

Who  set  him  right  again-a.  140 

Then  mounting  upon  his  steed  so  tall, 

By  hill  and  dale  he  swore-a  : 
I'll  ride  at  once  to  her  father's  hall ; 

She  shall  escape  no  more-a. 

I'll  take  her  father  by  the  beard,  145 

I'll  challenge  all  her  kindred  ; 
Each  dastard  soul  shall  stand  affeard ; 

My  wrath  shall  no  more  be  hind  red. 

He  rode  unto  her  father's  house, 

Which  every  side  was  moated  :  150 

The  lady  heard  his  furious  vows, 

And  all  his  vengeance  noted. 


342       THE    BAFFLED    KNIGHT. 

Thought  shee,  sir  knight,  to  quench  your  rage, 

Once  more  I  will  endeavour : 
This  water  shall  your  fury  'swage,  155 

Or  else  it  shall  burn  for  ever. 

Then  faining  penitence  and  feare, 

She  did  invite  a  parley  : 
Sir  knight,  if  you'll  forgive  me  heare, 

Henceforth  I'll  love  you  dearly.  160 

My  father  he  is  now  from  home, 

And  I  am  all  alone,  sir : 
Therefore  a-cross  the  water  come  ; 

And  I  am  all  your  own,  sir. 

False  maid,  thou  canst  no  more  deceive ;         165 

I  scorn  the  treacherous  bait-a : 
If  thou  would'st  have  me  thee  believe, 

Now  open  me  the  gate-a. 

The  bridge  is  drawn,  the  gate  is  barr'd, 

My  father  he  has  the  keys,  sir.  170 

But  I  have  for  my  love  prepar'd 
A  shorter  way  and  easier. 

Over  the  moate  I've  laid  a  plank 

Full  seventeen  feet  in  measure  : 
Then  step  a-cross  to  the  other  bank,  175 

And  there  we'll  take  our  pleasure. 

These  words  she  had  no  sooner  spoke, 
But  strait  he  came  tripping  over  : 

The  plank  was  saw'd,  it  snapping  broke ; 

And  sous'd  the  unhappy  lover.  i8« 


WHY   SO   PALE? 


343 


XVI. 


WHY    SO    PALE  ? 


ROM  Sir  John  Suckling's  Poe^ns.  This  sprightly  knight 
was  born  in  1613,  and  cut  off  by  a  fever  about  the  29th 
year  of  his  age.     See  above,  Song  IX.  of  this  Book. 


['il:is  celebrated  song  occurs  in  the  tragedy  of  Aglaura,  where  it 
is  sung  by  Orsames,  a  young  lord,  who  says — "  It  is  a  little  foolish 
counsel  I  gave  a  friend  of  mine  four  or  five  years  ago  when  he  was 
falling  into  a  consumption." 

Dr.  Rimbault  {Musical  Illustrations,  p.  29)  writes,  ''  The  original 
air  is  here  given  from  a  MS.  volume  of  old  songs  with  the  music, 
temp.  Charles  II.  in  the  collection  of  the  Editor.  It  was  originally 
in  the  Library  at  Staunton  Harold,  Leicestershire,  the  seat  of  Earl 
Ferrers.  This  beautiful  lyric  was  sung  by  Mrs.  Cross  in  the  Mock 
Astrologer,  to  an  air  composed  by  Lewis  Ramondon.  It  was 
afterwards  reset  by  Dr.  Arne." 

The  date  of  the  poet's  birth  given  above  is  incorrect.  Suckling 
was  baptized  on  the  tenth  of  February,  1608-9,  and  his  mother 
died  in  16 13.  Reduced  in  fortune  and  an  aHen,  he  died  of  poison 
bought  by  him  of  an  apothecary  at  Paris.  The  date  of  his  death 
is  not  known,  but  it  probably  took  place  in  1641,  and  he  certainly 
was  dead  before  the  year  1642  had  ended.] 


HY  so  pale  and  wan,  fond  lover? 

Prethee,  why  so  pale  ? 
Will,  when  looking  well  can't  move  her. 
Looking  ill  prevail  ? 
Prethee,  why  so  pale  ?  5 

Why  so  dull  and  mute,  young  sinner? 

Prethee  why  so  mute  ? 
Will,  when  speaking  well  can't  win  her, 

Saying  nothing  doe't? 

Prethee  why  so  mute  ?  10 


344  WHY   SO    PALE'^ 

Quit,  quit  for  shame  ;  this  will  not  move, 

This  cannot  take  her  ; 
If  of  herself  she  will  not  love, 

Nothing  can  make  her. 

The  devil  take  her  ! 


XVII. 
OLD  TOM  OF  BEDLAM. 

Mad  song  the  first. 

'T  is  worth  attention,  that  the  English  have  more  soni^s 
and  ballads  on  the  subject  of  madness,  than  any  of 
their  neighbours.  Whether  there  be  any  truth  in  the 
insinuation,  that  we  are  more  liable  to  this  calamity 
than  other  nations,  or  that  our  native  gloominess  hath  peculiarly 
recommended  subjects  of  this  cast  to  our  writers;  we  certainly  do 
not  find  the  same  in  the  printed  collections  of  French,  Italian 
Songs,  &c. 

Out  of  a  much  larger  quantity,  we  have  selected  half  a  dozen 
mad  songs  for  these  volumes.  The  three  first  are  originals  in 
their  respective  kinds ;  the  merit  of  the  three  last  is  chiefly  that 
of  imitation.  They  were  written  at  considerable  intervals  of  time ; 
but  we  have  here  grouped  them  together,  that  the  reader  may  the 
better  examine  their  comparative  merits.  He  may  consider  them 
as  so  many  trials  of  skill  in  a  very  peculiar  subject,  as  the  contest 
of  so  many  rivals  to  shoot  in  the  bow  of  Ulysses.  The  two  first 
were  probably  written  about  the  beginning  of  the  last  century ;  the 
third  about  the  middle  of  it ;  the  fourth  and  sixth  towards  the 
end ;  and  the  fifth  within  this  present  century. 

This  is  given  from  the  Editor's  folio  MS.  compared  with  two 
or  three  old  printed  copies. — With  regard  to  the  author  of  this  old 
rhapsody,  in  Walton's  Complcat  Angler^  cap.  3',  is  a  song  in  praise 
of  angling,  which  the  author  says  was  made  at  his  request  "  by 
Mr.  William  Basse,  one  that  has  made  the  choice  songs  of  the 
Hunter  in  his  caj'cer,  and  of  Tom  of  Bedlam,  and  many  others 
of  note,"  p.  84.  See  ^\x  John  Hawkins's  curious  Edition,  8vo.  of 
that  excellent  old  book. 

[The  madness  here  referred  to  was  sometimes  real,  but  more 


OLD    TOM    OF  BEDLAM.        345 

often  shammed.  These  "  mad  rascals  "  were  so  numerous  a  class 
that  they  obtained  the  distinctive  names  of  Bedlam  beggars,  and 
Abraham  men.  Dekker  describes  their  tricks  in  his  Belbnan  oj 
London,  1616,  where  he  says,  "he  calls  himself  by  the  name  of 
Poor  Tom,  and  coming  near  any  body,  cries  out,  *  Poor  Tom  is  a 
cold;'"  the  very  expression  used  by  Edgar  when  he  appears  in 
the  disguise  of  a  madman  {Kmg  Lear).  Mr.  Chappell  observes 
that  there  is  great  uncertainty  as  to  the  authorship,  for  there  are  so 
many  Tom  of  Bedlam  songs  that  it  is  impossible  to  determine  from 
the  passage  in  the  Complete  Angler  to  which  of  them  Walton  refers. 
It  is  also  doubtful  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  the  tune.  Mr. 
Chappell  thinks  that  probably  it  was  by  Henry  Lawes's  master,  John 
Cooper,  called  Caperario  after  his  visit  to  Italy.  It  has  been 
attributed,  without  authority,  to  Henry  Purcell  and  Henry  Lawes.] 


ORTH  from  my  sad  and  darksome  cell, 
Or  from  the  deepe  abysse  of  hell, 
Mad  Tom  is  come  into  the  world  againe 
To  see  if  he  can  cure  his  distempered  braine. 

Feares  and  cares  oppresse  my  soule  ;  5 

Harke,  howe  the  angrye  Fiireys  houle ! 
Pluto  laughes,  and  Proserpine  is  gladd 
To  see  poore  naked  Tom  of  Bedlam  madd. 

Through  the  world  I  wander  night  and  day 
To  seeke  my  straggling  senses,  10 

In  an  angrye  moode  I  mett  old  Time, 
With  his  pentarchye  of  tenses '} 

When  me  he  spyed, 
Away  he  hyed, 
For  time  will  stay  for  no  man :  15 


[Ver.  2.  or  not  in  MS.  V.  4.  can  ease.  V.  5.  ffeare  &  dispayre 
pursue.  V.  7.  and  not  in  MS.  V.  9.  through  woods.  V.  11.  I 
found  out  time.  V.  13.  he  spyes.  V.  14.  he  fflyes.  V.  i^.  for 
not  in  MS.] 

\}  five  tenses.] 


346         OLD    TOM    OF  BEDLAM. 

In  vaine  v^rith  cryes 
I  rent  the  skyes, 
For  pity  is  not  common. 

Cold  and  comfortless  I  lye : 

Helpe,  oh  helpe !  or  else  I  dye!  to 

Harke  !  I  heare  Apollo's  teame, 

The  carman  'gins  to  whistle ; 
Chast  Diana  bends  her  bowe, 

The  boare  begins  to  bristle. 

Come,  Vulcan,  with  tools  and  with  tackles,       15 
To  knocke  off  my  troublesome  shackles ; 
Bid  Charles  make  ready  his  waine 
To  fetch  me  my  senses  againe. 

Last  night  I  heard  the  dog-star  bark ; 

Mars  met  Venus  in  the  darke  ;  30 

Limping  Vulcan  het^  an  iron  barr, 

And  furiouslye  made  at  the  god  of  war : 

Mars  with  his  weapon  laid  about, 

But  Vulcan's  temples  had  the  gout, 

For  his  broad  horns  did  so  hang  in  his  light,  35 

He  could  not  see  to  aim  his  blowes  aright : 

Mercurye  the  nimble  post  of  heaven, 

Stood  still  to  see  the  quarrell ; 
Gorrel-bellyed"^  Bacchus,  gyant-like, 

Bestryd  a  strong-beere  barrell.  40 

To  mee  he  dranke, 
I  did  him  thanke. 
But  I  could  get  no  cyder ; 


[Ver.  17.  hee  rends.  V.  \Z.for  not  in  MS.  V.  26.  and  knocke. 
V.  28.  my  five  sences.  V.  31.  heates.  V.  32.  runs  att.  V.  33. 
N\  capons.  V.  35.  hang  soe.  V.  36.  that  hee  cold  not  see  to  aime 
arright.     V.  38.  stayd  to  see.] 

\}  heated.  ^  very  fat  bellied.] 


OLD    TOM    OF  BEDLAM. 

He  dranke  whole  butts 
Till  he  burst  his  gutts, 
But  mine  were  ne'er  the  wyder. 

Poore  naked  Tom  is  very  drye  : 
A  little  drinke  for  charitye  ! 

Harke,  I  hear  Acteon's  home  ! 

The  huntsmen  whoop  and  hallowe  : 
Rinnrwood,  Royster,  Bowman,  Jowler, 

All  the  chase  do  followe. 

The  man  in  the  moone  drinkes  clarret, 
Eates  powder'd  beef,  turnip,  and  carret, 
But  a  cup  of  old  Malaga  sack 
Will  fire  the  bushe  at  his  backe. 


347 


45 


50 


55 


XVIIL 


THE    DISTRACTED    PURITAN, 
Mad  song  the  second, 

^fJ^AS  "written  about  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
"'^    tury  by  the  witty  bishop  Corbet,  and  is  printed  from 
the  3d  edition  of  his  Poems,  i2mo.  1672,  compared 
with  a  more  ancient  copy  in  the  Editor's  folio  MS. 

[This  song  was  printed  in  Le  Priiice  d^ Amour,  1660,  with  three 
other  songs  entitled  Tom  of  Bedlam.  It  was  also  printed  in  the 
Riifnp  Songs,  1662,  but  not  in  the  edition  of  1660. 

The  copy  in  the  folio  MS.  (ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall,  vol.  iii. 
p.  269)  has  several  alterations.  Stanza  5  was  taken  by  Percy 
from  the  MS.,  where  it  occurs  as  stanza  8. 

Richard  Corbet,  successively  Bishop  of  Oxford  and  Norwich, 
was  born  at  Ewell  in  Surrey  in  1582.  He  died  in  1635.  ^^  ^^^^ 
a  humorous  man,  and  many  pleasant  stories  are  told  of  him,  but 
Aubrey  describes  his  appearance  as  "  grave  and  venerable." 


348     THE    DISTRACTED  PURITAN. 


M  I  mad,  O  noble  Festus, 
When  zeal  and  godly  knowledge 
Have  put  me  in  hope 
To  deal  with  the  pope, 
As  well  as  the  best  in  the  college  ?  5 

Boldly  I  preach,  hate  a  crosSjhate  a  surplice, 

Mitres,  copes,  and  rochets  ; 
Come  hear  me  pray  nine  times  a  day, 
And  fill  your  heads  with  crochets. 

In  the  house  of  pure  Emanuel*  10 

I  had  my  education, 

Where  my  friends  surmise 

I  dazel'd  my  eyes 
With  the  sight  of  revelation. 
Boldly  I  preach,  &c. 

They  bound  me  like  a  bedlam,  15 

They  lash'd  my  four  poor  quarters ; 

Whilst  this  I  endure, 

Faith  makes  me  sure 
To  be  one  of  Foxes  martyrs. 
Boldly  I  preach,  &c. 

These  injuries  I  suffer  20 

Through  antichrist's  perswasion  : 


*  Emanuel  college,  Cambridge,  was  originally  a  seminary  of 
Puritans. 

[Fuller  has  left  us  the  following  anecdote  of  Sir  Walter  Mildmay, 
the  founder  of  Emanuel,  in  his  History  of  the  Uiiiversity  of  Cambridge. 
"  Coming  to  court  after  he  had  founded  his  college,  the  queen  told 
him,  '  Sir  Walter,  I  hear  you  have  erected  a  Puritan  foundation.' 
'  No  madam,'  saith  he,  '  far  be  it  from  me  to  countenance  any- 
thing contrary  to  your  established  laws  -,  but  I  have  set  an  acorn, 
which,  when  it  becomes  an  oak,  God  alone  knows  what  will  be  the 
fruit  thereof.'  "] 


THE    DISTRACTED    PURITAN.     349 

Take  off  this  chain, 
Neither  Rome  nor  Spain 
Can  resist  my  strong  invasion. 
Boldly  I  preach,  &c. 

Of  the  beast's  ten  horns  (God  bless  us  !)  *s 

I  have  knock'd  off  three  already ; 

If  they  let  me  alone 

I'll  leave  him  none  : 
But  they  say  I  am  too  heady. 
Boldly  I  preach,  &c. 

When  I  sack'd  the  seven-hilFd  city,  30 

I  met  the  great  red  dragon ; 

I  kept  him  aloof 

With  the  armour  of  proof, 
Though  here  I  have  never  a  rag  on. 
Boldly  I  preach,  &c. 

With  a  fiery  sword  and  target,  35 

There  fought  I  with  this  monster : 

But  the  sons  of  pride 

My  zeal  deride. 
And  all  my  deeds  misconster. 
Boldly  I  preach,  &c. 

I  un-hors'd  the  Whore  of  Babel,  40 

With  the  lance  of  Inspiration ; 

I  made  her  slink. 

And  spill  the  drink 
In  her  cup  of  abomination. 
Boldly  I  preach,  &c. 

I  have  seen  two  in  a  vision  45 

With  a  flying-book*  between  them. 


» 


Alluding  to  some  visionary  exposition  of  Zech.  ch.  v.  ver.  i  ; 
or,  if  the  date  of  this  song  would  permit,  one  might  suppose  it 
aimed  at  one  Coppe,  a  strange  enthusiast,  whose  life  may  be  seen 


350     THE    DISTRACTED   PURITAN. 

I  have  been  in  despair 
Five  times  in  a  year, 
And  been  cur'd  by  reading  Greenham.* 
Boldly  I  preach,  &c. 

I  observ'd  in  Perkln's  tablesf  50 

The  black  line  of  damnation  ; 

Those  crooked  veins 

So  stuck  in  my  brains, 
That  I  fear'd  my  reprobation. 
Boldly  I  preach,  &c. 

In  the  holy  tongue  of  Canaan  55 

I  plac'd  my  chiefest  pleasure  : 

Till  I  prick'd  my  foot 

With  an  Hebrew  root, 
That  I  bled  beyond  all  measure. 
Boldly  1  preach.  d<iQ,. 


in  Wood's  Athen,  vol.  ii.  p.  501.  He  was  author  of  a  book,  in- 
titled,  The  Fiery  Flying  Roll :  and  afterwards  published  a  Re- 
cantation, part  of  whose  title  is,  The  Fiery  Flying  RoWs  Wings 
dipt,  8zc, 

*  See  Greenham's  Works^  fol.  1605,  particularly  the  tract  in- 
titled,  A  S7veet  Comfort  for  an  afflicted  Consciejice, 

[Richard  Greenham  was  born  ciixa  1531  and  died  in  1591.  He 
was  a  singularly  ardent  preacher,  and  Brook,  in  his  Lives  of  the 
Furitaiis,  says,  that  "  in  addition  to  his  public  ministerial  labours 
he  had  a  remarkable  talent  for  comforting  afflicted  consciences." 
His  Wo?'Jzs  were  first  collected  in  1599.] 

t  See  Perkin's  Works,  fol.  1616,  vol.  i.  p.  11;  where  is  a  large 
half  sheet  folded,  containing,  A  survey,  or  table,  declaring  the  order 
of  the  causes  of  salvation  and  damnation,  &c,  the  pedigree  of  damna- 
tion being  distinguished  by  a  broad  black  zig-zag  line. 

[William  Perkins  (i 558-1602).  Brook  says  of  him,  that  he  used 
to  pronounce  the  word  damn  with  so  peculiar  an  emphasis  "  that  it 
left  a  doleful  echo  in  the  eares  a  long  time  after."  His  works  were 
frequently  reprinted,  and,  according  to  Fuller,  were  translated  into 
Latin,  French,  Dutch,  and  Spanish.] 


THE    DISTRACTED  PURITAN.     351 

I  appeared  before  the  archbishop.*  60 

And  all  the  high  commission  ; 
I  gave  him  no  grace, 
But  told  him  to  his  face, 
That  he  favour'd  superstition. 

Boldly  I  preach,  hate  a  cross,  hate  a  surplice, 
Mitres,  copes,  and  rochets  :  66 

Come  hear  me  pray  nine  times  a  day, 
And  fill  your  heads  with  crotchets. 


XIX. 

THE    LUNATIC    LOVER, 

Mad  song  the  third, 

S  given  from  an  old  printed  copy  in  the  British  Museum, 
compared  with  another  in  the  Pepys  collection;  both 
in  black  letter. 

[Black-letter  copies  of  this  ballad  are  to  be  found  in  the  Bag- 
ford,  Douce,  and  Roxburghe  collections,  as  well  as  in  the  Pepys. 
The  tune  was  a  favourite  one,  and  severa.1  other  ballads  were 
sung  to  it.] 

^RIM  king-  of  the  ghosts,  make  haste, 
And  bring  hither  all  your  train  ; 
See  how  the  pale  moon  does  waste, 
And  just  now  is  in  the  wane. 
Come,  you  night-hags,  with  all  your  charms,     5 

And  revelling  witches  away, 

And  hug  me  close  in  your  arms  ; 

To  you  my  respects  I'll  pay. 

*  Abp.  Laud. 


352  THE    LUNATIC   LOVER, 

I'll  court  you,  and  think  you  fair, 

Since  love  does  distract  my  brain  :  lo 

ril  go,  I'll  wed  the  night-mare. 

And  kiss  her,  and  kiss  her  again  : 
But  if  she  prove  peevish  and  proud, 

Then,  a  pise  on  her  love  !  let  her  go  ; 
rU  seek  me  a  winding  shroud,  15 

And  down  to  the  shades  below. 

A  lunacy  sad  I  endure. 

Since  reason  departs  away ; 
I  call  to  those  hags  for  a  cure 

As  knowing  not  what  I  say.  20 

The  beauty,  whom  I  do  adore, 

Now  slights  me  with  scorn  and  disdain ; 
I  never  shall  see  her  more ; 

Ah !  how  shall  I  bear  my  pain  ! 

I  ramble,  and  range  about  «5 

To  find  out  my  charming  saint ; 
While  she  at  my  grief  does  flout, 

And  smiles  at  my  loud  complaint. 
Distraction  I  see  is  my  doom, 

Of  this  I  am  now  too  sure ;  3 

A  rival  is  got  in  my  room. 

While  torments  I  do  endure. 

Strange  fancies  do  fill  my  head, 

While  wandering  in  despair, 
I  am  to  the  desarts  lead,  35 

Expecting  to  find  her  there. 
Methinks  in  a  spangled  cloud 

I  see  her  enthroned  on  high  ; 
Then  to  her  I  crie  aloud, 

And  labour  to  reach  the  sky.  40 


THE    LUNATIC    LOVER 


Z^l 


When  thus  I  have  raved  awhile, 

And  wearyed  myself  in  vain, 
I  lye  on  the  barren  soil, 

And  bitterly  do  complain. 
Till  slumber  hath  quieted  me,  ^% 

In  sorrow  I  sigh  and  weep; 
The  clouds  are  my  canopy 

To  cover  me  while  I  sleep. 

I  dream  that  my  charming  fair 

Is  then  in  my  rival's  bed,  50 

Whose  tresses  of  golden  hair 

Are  on  the  fair  pillow  bespread. 
Then  this  doth  my  passion  inflame,. 

I  start,  and  no  longer  can  lie : 
Ah  !  Sylvia,  art  thou  not  to  blame  55 

To  ruin  a  lover?  I  cry. 

Grim  king  of  the  ghosts,  be  true, 

And  hurry  me  hence  away. 
My  languishing  life  to  you 

A  tribute  I  freely  pay.  6d 

To  the  elysian  shades  I  post 

In  hopes  to  be  freed  from  care, 
Where  many  a  bleeding  ghost 

Is  hovering  in  the  air. 


AA 


354       THE    LADY   DISTRACTED 

XX. 

THE   LADY   DISTRACTED   WITH    LOVE, 

Mad  Song  the  Fourth, 

"^AS  originally  sung  in  one  of  Tom  D''urfey's  comedies 
of  Don   Quixote  in    1694  and    1696;    and   probably- 


composed  by  himself.  In  the  several  stanzas,  the  author 
represents  his  pretty  Mad-woman  as  i.  sullenly  mad : 
2.  mirthfully  mad  :  3.  melancholy  r  id  :  4.  fantastically  mad:  and 
5.  stark  mad.  Both  this,  and  Num.  XXII.  are  printed  from  D'ur- 
fcy's  Pills  to  purge  Melancholy ^  1719,  vol.  i. 


^|rt)ROM  rosle  bowers,  where  sleeps  the  god 

^ii"^       Hither  ye  little  wanton  cuplds  fly ; 
fe^  Teach  me  in  soft  melodious  strains  to 
move 
With  tender  passion  my  heart  s  darling  joy  : 
Ah !  let  the  soul  of  musick  tune  my  voice,  5 

To  win  dear  Strephon,  who  my  soul  enjoys. 

Or,  if  more  influencing 

Is  to  be  brisk  and  airy, 
With  a  step  and  a  bound, 
With  a  frisk  from  the  ground,  lo 

ril  trip  like  any  fairy. 

As  once  on  Ida  dancing 

Were  three  celestial  bodies  : 
With  an  air,  arid  a  face. 
And  a  shape,  and  a  grace,  15 

I'll  charm,  like  beauty's  goddess. 


WITH    LOVE,  355 

Ah !  'tis  in  vain  !  'tis  all,  'tis  all  in  vain  ! 
Death  and  despair  must  end  the  fatal  pain : 
Cold,  cold  despair,  disguis'd  like  snow  and  rain, 
Falls  on  my  breast;  bleak  winds  in  tempests  blow; 
My  veins  all  shiver,  and  my  fingers  glow:  ai 

My  pulse  beats  a  dead  march  for  lost  repose, 
And  to  a  solid  lump  of  ice  my  poor  fond  heart  is  froze. 

Or  say,  ye  powers,  my  peace  to  crown, 

Shall  I  thaw  myself,  and  drown  25 

Among  the  foaming  billows  ? 
Increasing  all  with  tears  I  shed, 

On  beds  of  ooze,  and  crystal  pillows, 
Lay  down,  lay  down  my  lovesick  head  ? 

No,  no,  I'll  strait  run  mad,  mad,  mad,  3a 

That  soon  my  heart  will  warm; 
When  once  the  sense  is  fled,  is  fled, 

Love  has  no  power  to  charm. 
Wild  thro'  the  woods  I'll  fly,  I'll  fly, 

Robes,  locks shall  thus be  tore !  35 

A  thousand,  thousand  times  I'll  dye 

Ere  thus,  thus,  in  vain, — ere  thus  in  vain  adore. 


XXI. 
THE   DISTRACTED   LOVER, 

Mad  Song  the  Fifth, 

;AS  written  by  Henry  Carey ^  a  celebrated  composer  of 
music  at  the  beginning  of  this  century,  and  author 
of  several  little  Theatrical  Entertainments,  which  the 
reader  may  find  enumerated  in  the  Companion  to  the 
Ftay-house,  &c.  The  sprightliness  of  this  songster's  fancy  could 
not  preserve  him  from  a  very  melancholy  catastrophe,  wKa'^H  was 


356     THE    DISTRACTED    LOVER, 

effected  by  his  own  hand.    In  his  Poems,  4to.  Lond.  1729,  may  be 
seen  another  Mad-Song  of  this  author,  beginning  thus  : 

•'  Gods  !  I  can  never  this  endure, 
Death  alone  must  be  my  cure,"  &c. 


GO  to  the  Elysian  shade, 

Where  sorrow  ne'er  shall  wound  me ; 
Where  nothing  shall  my  rest  invade, 

But  joy  shall  still  surround  me. 

I  fly  from  Cella's  cold  disdain,  f 

From  her  disdain  I  fly  ; 
She  is  the  cause  of  all  my  pain, 

For  her  alone  I  die. 

Her  eyes  are  brighter  than  the  mid-day  sun, 
When  he  but  half  his  radiant  course  has  run,  i» 

When  his  meridian  glories  gaily  shine, 
And  gild  all  nature  with  a  warmth  divine. 

See  yonder  river's  flowing  tide, 

Which  now  so  full  appears  ; 
Those  streams,  that  do  so  swiftly  glide,  15 

Are  nothing  but  my  tears. 

There  I  have  wept  till  I  could  weep  no  more. 

And  curst  mine  eyes,  when  they  have  wept  their 

store  : 
Then,  like  the  clouds,  that  rob  the  azure  main, 
I've  drain'd  the  flood  to  weep  it  back  again.  20 

Pity  my  pains, 

Ye  gentle  swains ! 
Cover  me  with  ice  and  snow, 
I  scorch,  I  burn,  I  flame,  I  glow  I 


THE    DISTRACTED    LOVER.     357 

Furies,  tear  me,  ss 

Quickly  bear  me 
To  the  dismal  shades  below  ! 

Where  yelling,  and  howling 

And  grumbling,  and  growling 
Strike  the  ear  with  horrid  woe.  ?o 

•  Hissing  snakes, 

Fiery  lakes 
Would  be  a  pleasure,  and  a  cure  : 

Not  all  the  hells, 

Where  Pluto  dwells,  35 

Can  give  such  pain  as  I  endure. 

To  some  peaceful  plain  convey  me, 

On  a  mossey  carpet  lay  me, 

Fan  me  with  ambrosial  breeze, 

Let  me  die,  and  so  have  ease !  4«> 


XXII. 
THE    FRANTIC   LADY, 

Mad  Song  the  Sixth. 

^HIS,  like  Num.  XX.,  was   originally  sung  in  one  of 

Dhirfefs    comedies    of    Don    Quixote,    (first     acted 

|]^^    about  the  year  1694)  and  was  probably  composed  by 

that  popular  songster,  who  died  Feb.  26,  1723. 

This  is  printed  in  the  Hive,  a  Collection  of  Songs,  4  vols.  1721, 

i2mo.  where  may  be  found  two  or  three  other  Mad  Sengs  not 

admitted  into  these  Volumes. 


o 


58  THE    FRANTIC   LADY. 


BURN,  my  brain  consumes  to  ashes ! 
Each  eye-ball  too  like  lightning  flashes ! 
'^^  Within  my  breast  there  glows  a  solid  fire, 
""^^   Which  in  a  thousand  ages  can't  expire! 

Blow,  blow,  the  winds'  great  ruler !  5 

Bring  the  Po,  and  the  Ganges  hither, 

'Tis  sultry  weather, 

Pour  them  all  on  my  soul. 

It  will  hiss  like  a  coal, 
But  be  never  the  cooler.  10 

'Twas  pride  hot  as  hell. 

That  first  made  me  rebell. 
From  love's  awful  throne  a  curst  angel  I  fell 

And  mourn  now  my  fate. 

Which  myself  did  create  :  15 

Fool,  fool,  that  consider'd  not  when  I  was  well ! 

Adieu  !  ye  vain  transporting  joys  ! 
Off  ye  vain  fantastic  toys  ! 
That  dress  this  face — this  body — to  allure ! 

Bring  me  daggers,  poison,  fire  !  i« 

Since  scorn  is  turn'd  into  desire. 
All  hell  feels  not  the  rage,  which  I,  poor  I,  endure. 


XXIII. 
LILLI    BURLERO. 


^^HE  following  rhymes,  slight  and  insignificant  as  they 
may  now  seem,  had  once  a  more  powerful  effect  than 
n        either  the  Philippics  of  Demosthenes,  or  Cicero  ;   and 
^^^^tB-Qa    contributed  not  a  little  towards  the  great  revolution  in 
t688.     Let  us  hear  a  contemporary  writer. 

"A  foolish  ballad  was  made  at  that  time,  treating  the  Papists, 


LILLI   BURLERO,  359 

and  chiefly  the  Irish,  in  a  very  ridiculous  manner,  which  had  a 
burden  said  to  be  Irish  words,  Lero,  lero,  IzHburlero,  that  made  an 
impression  on  the  (king's)  army,  that  cannot  be  imagined  by  those 
that  saw  it  not.  The  whole  army,  and  at  last  the  people,  both  in 
dty  and  country,  were  singing  it  perpetually.  And  perhaps  never 
had  so  slight  a  thing  so  great  an  effect." — Burnet. 

It  was  written,  or  at  least  republished,  on  the  earl  of  TyrconneFs 
going  a  second  time  to  Ireland  in  October,  1688.  Perhaps  it  is 
unnecessary  to  mention,  that  General  Richard  Talbot,  newly 
created  earl  of  Tyrconnel,  had  been  nominated  by  K.  James  II, 
to  the  lieutenancy  of  Ireland  in  1686,  on  account  of  his  being  a 
furious  papist,  who  had  recommended  himself  to  his  bigotted 
master  by  his  arbitrary  treatment  of  the  protestants  in  the  pre- 
ceding year,  when  only  lieutenant  general,  and  whose  subsequent 
conduct  fully  justified  his  expectations  and  their  fears.  The  vio- 
lences of  his  administration  may  be  seen  in  any  of  the  histories  ol 
those  times  :  particularly  in  bishop  King's  State  of  the  Pi'otestants 
in  Ireland,  1691,  4to. 

This  song  is  attributed  to  Lord  Wharton  in  a  small  pamphlet, 
iniitled,  A  true  relation  of  the  several  facts  and  circumstances  of  the 
intended  riot  and  tumult  on  Q.  Elizabeths  birth-day^  6^^.  3d  ed. 
Lond.  17 12,  pr.  2d. — See  p.  5,  viz. — "A  late  Viceroy  (of  Ireland,) 
who  has  so  often  boasted  himself  upon  his  talent  for  mischief 
invention,  lying,  and  for  making  a  certain  Lilliburlero  Song;  witi" 
which,  if  you  will  believe  himself,  he  sung  a  deluded  Prince  out 
of  Three  Kingdom.s." 

Lillibu7-lero  and  Bullen-a-lah  are  said  to  have  been  the  words  of 
distinction  used  among  the  Irish  Papists  in  their  massacre  of  the 
Protestants  in  1641. 

[To  no  song  could  be  better  attributed  Fletcher  of  Saltoun's 
dictum  than  to  this  poor  specimen  of  verse,  which  caught  the  fancy 
of  the  people  and  drove  James  from  his  throne.  Macaulay  wrote 
of  it  as  follows: — "From  one  end  of  England  to  the  other  all 
classes  were  constantly  singing  this  idle  rhyme.  It  was  especially 
the  delight  of  the  English  army.  More  than  seventy  years  after  the 
Revolution,  Sterne  delineated  with  exquisite  skill  a  veteran  who 
had  fought  at  the  Boyne  and  at  Namur.  One  of  the  characteristics 
of  the  good  old  soldier  is  his  trick  of  whisthng  Lilliburlero.''^  The 
air  is  attributed  to  Purcell,  but  it  is  supposed  that  he  only  arranged 
an  earlier  tune.  Hume  thought  that  the  popularity  of  the  song 
was  rather  due  to  the  composer  of  the  air  than  to  the  author  ot 
the  words. 

Mr.  Markland,  in  a  note  to  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson^  says,  that 
"  according  to  Lord  Dartmouth  there  was  a  particular  expression 
in  it,  which  the  king  remembered  that  he  had  made  use  of  to  the 


36o  LILLI   BURLERO. 

Earl  of  Dorset,  from  whence  it  was  concluded  that  he  was  the 
author."  Upon  this  Mr.  Chappell  remarks,  i.  that  "the  Earl  of 
Dorset  laid  no  claim  to  it,  and  it  is  scarcely  to  be  believed  that 
the  author  of  To  all  yoic  ladies  now  on  land  could  have  penned 
such  thorough  doggrel."  2.  That  "  the  ballad  contains  no  ex- 
pression that  the  King  would  have  used,  which  might  not  equally 
have  been  employed  by  any  other  person."*  There  can  now  be 
little  doubt  that  the  author  was  Thomas  Marquis  of  Wharton, 
father  of  the  mad  Duke  Philip  of  Wharton.  He  discerned  the 
indications  of  the  political  horizon  and  espoused  the  winning  side. 
He  was  well  rewarded  for  his  wisdom.  Mr.  S.  Redmond  {Notes 
and  Queries^  third  series,  viii,  13)  writes  that  he  has  often  heard 
the  girls  in  the  south  and  south-east  of  Ireland,  while  engaged  in 
binding  the  corn  into  sheaves  after  the  reapers,  sing  the  following 
chorus,  which  always  had  reference  to  one  of  the  gang  who  was 
not  so  quick  at  her  work  as  the  others,  and  who  consequently  wns 
left  behind : 

"  Lully  by  lero, 

Lully  by  lero, 

Lully  by  lero, 

Help  her  along."] 


C  O  !  broder  Teague,  dost  hear  de  decree  ^ 
Lilli  burlero,  bullen  a-la. 
Dat  we  shall  have  a  new  deputle, 
^I)^^i^        Lilli  burlero  burlen  a-la. 

Lero  lero,  lilli  burlero,  lero  lero,  bullen  a-la,       5 
Lero  lero,  lilli  burlero,  lero  lero,  bullen  a-la. 

Ho  !  by  shaint  Tyburn,  it  is  de  Talbote  : 

Lilli,  &c. 
And  he  will  cut  de  Englishmen's  troate. 

Lilli,  &c.  »o 

Dough  by  my  shoul  de  English  do  praat, 

Lilli,  &c. 
De  law's  on  dare  side,  and  Creish  knows  what. 

Lilli,  &c. 

Ver.  7.  Ho  by  my  shoul,  ai.  ed. 
[*  Popular  Music  of  the  Olden  Tinie,  vol.  ii.  p.  569.] 


LILLI  BURLERO.  361 

But  if  dispence  do  come  from  de  pope,  15 

Lilli,  &c. 
We'll  hang  Magna  Charta,  and  dem  in  a  rope. 

Lilli,  &c. 

For  de  good  Talbot  is  made  a  lord, 

Lilli,  &c.  20 

A.nd  with  brave  lads  is  coming  aboard : 

Lilli,  &c. 

Who  all  in  France  have  taken  a  sware, 

Lilli,  &c. 
Dat  dey  will  have  no  protestant  heir.  45 

Lilli,  &c. 

Ara !  but  why  does  he  stay  behind  ? 

Lilli,  &c. 
Ho !  by  my  shoul  'tis  a  protestant  wind. 

Lilli,  &c.  30 

But  see  de  Tyrconnel  is  now  come  ashore, 

Lilli,  &c. 
And  we  shall  have  commissions  gillore. 
Lilli,  &c. 

And  he  dat  will  not  go  to  de  mass,  35 

Lilli,  &c. 
Shall  be  turn  out,  and  look  like  an  ass. 

Lilli,  &c. 

Now,  now  de  hereticks  all  go  down, 

Lilli,  &c.  40 

By  Chrish  and  shaint  Patrick,  de  nation's  our  own. 

Lilli,  &c. 

Dare  was  an  old  prophesy  found  in  a  bog, 

Lilli,  &c. 
**  Ireland  shall  be  rul'd  by  an  ass,  and  a  dog."  45 

Lilli,  &c. 

Ver.  43.  What  follows  is  not  in  some  copies. 


362  LILLI    nURLERO, 

And  now  dis  prophesy  is  come  to  pass, 

Lilli,  &c. 
For  Talbot's  de  dog,  and  Ja**s  Is  do  ass. 

Lilli,  &c.  ^0 


XXIV. 

THE   BRAES   OF   YARROW, 

In  Imitation  of  the  Ancient  Scots  Manner, 

;AS  written  by  William  Hamilton,  of  Bangour,  iLsq;  who 
died  March  25,  1734,  aged  50.  It  is  printed  from  an 
elegant  edition  of  his  Foe?7is,  published  at  Edinburgh, 
1760,  i2mo.    This  song  was  written  in  imitation  of  an 

old  Scottish  ballad  on  a  similar  subject,  with  the  same  burden  to 

each  stanza. 

[The  beautiful  river  Yarrow  has  few  rivals  as  an  inspirer  of  song. 
These  verses  of  Hamilton's  are  copied  from  the  old  ballad — The 
Dowie  Dens  (melancholy  downs)  of  Yarrow^  a  collated  version  of 
which  was  first  printed  by  Scott  in  his  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border,  Scott  was  of  opinion  that  with  many  readers  the  greatest 
recommendation  of  the  old  ballad  will  be  that  it  suggested  to 
Hamilton  his  modern  one.  We  may  say  that  the  greatest  recom- 
mendation of  Hamilton's  poem  to  us  is  the  fact  that  it  inspired 
Wordsworth  to  write  his  three  lovely  little  poems,  Yarrow  Unvisited, 
Visited,  and  Revisited. 

There  are  two  old  ballads  which  have  been  much  mixed  up  by 
reciters,  viz.  The  Dowie  Dens  and  Willie's  drowned  in  Yarrow. 
The  Rev.  John  Logan's  Braes  of  Yarrow  is  founded  on  the  latter. 

William  Hamilton  of  Bangour  was  bom  in  1704  and  died  at 
Lyons  in  1754,  from  which  place  his  remains  were  brought  to 
Scotland,  and  interred  in  Holyrood  Abbey.  He  was  a  Jacobite, 
and  after  the  battle  of  Culloden  was  forced  to  skulk  about  the 
Highlands  in  disguise  until  he  was  able  to  escape  to  France.  He 
returned  to  Scotland  after  the  country  had  quieted  down  in  1749.] 


THE    BRAES    OF    YARROW.      363 


A. 
USK^  ye,  busk  ye,  my  bonny  bonny  bride. 
Busk  ye,  busk  ye,  my  winsome  marrow,"^ 
Busk  ye,  busk  ye,  my  bonny  bonny  bride, 
And  think  nae  mair  on  the  Braes ^  of 
Yarrow. 

B.  Where  gat  ye  that  bonny  bonny  bride  ?  5 

Where  gat  ye  that  winsome  marrow  ? 

A.  I  gat  her  where  I  dare  na  weil  be  seen, 

Puing  the  birks"^  on  the  Braes  of  Yarrow. 

Weep  not,  weep  not,  my  bonny  bonny  bride. 
Weep  not,  weep  not,  my  winsome  marrow  ;    10 

Nor  let  thy  heart  lament  to  leive 

Puing  the  birks  on  the  Braes  of  Yarrow. 

B,  Why  does  she  weep,  thy  bonny  bonny  bride  ? 

Why  does  she  weep  thy  winsome  marrow  ? 
And  why  dare  ye  nae  mair  weil  be  seen  15 

Puing  the  birks  on  the  Braes  of  Yarrow  ? 

A.   Lang  maun  she  weep,  lang  maun  she,  maun  she 
weep, 
Lang  maun  she  weep  with  dule  and  sorrow ; 
And  lang  maun  I  nae  mair  weil  be  seen 

Puing  the  birks  on  the  Braes  of  Yarrow.        20 

For  she  has  tint^  her  luver,  luver  dear, 
Her  luver  dear,  the  cause  of  sorrow  ; 

And  I  hae  slain  the  comliest  swain 

That  eir  pu  d  birks  on  the  Braes  of  Yarrow. 


\}  dress.  ^  companion.  ^  hilly  banks. 

'^  pulling  the  birch  trees.  ^  lost.] 


364      THE    BRAES    OF    YARROW. 

Why  rins  thy  stream,  O  Yarrow,  Yarrow,  reid  ?  2  5 

Why  on  thy  braes  heard  the  voice  of  sorrow  ? 
And  why  yon  melanchoHous  weids 
Hung  on  the  bonny  birks  of  Yarrow  ? 

What's  yonder  floats  on  the  rueful  rueful  flude  ? 

What's  yonder  floats  ?  O  dule  and  sorrow  !    30 
O  'tis  he  the  comely  swain  I  slew 

Upon  the  duleful  Braes  of  Yarrow. 

Wash,  O  wash  his  wounds,  his  wounds  in  tears, 
His  wounds  in  tears  with  dule  and  sorrow  ; 

And  wrap  his  limbs  in  mourning  weids,  35 

And  lay  him  on  the  Braes  of  Yarrow. 

Then  build,  then  build,  ye  sisters,  sisters  sad, 
Ye  sisters  sad,  his  tomb  with  sorrow ; 

And  weep  around  in  waeful  wise 

His  hapless  fate  on  the  Braes  of  Yarrow. 

Curse  ye,  curse  ye,  his  useless,  useless  shield, 
My  arm  that  wrought  the  deed  of  sorrow. 

The  fatal  spear  that  pierc'd  his  breast, 

His  comely  breast  on  the  Braes  of  Yarrow. 

Did  I  not  warn  thee,  not  to,  not  to  luve  ?  45 

And  warn  from  fight  ?  but  to  my  sorrow 

Too  rashly  bauld  a  stronger  arm 

Thou  mett'st,  and  fell'st  on  the  Braes  of  Yarrow. 

Sweet  smells  the  birk,  green  grows,  green  grows 
the  grass, 

Yellow  on  Yarrow's  bank  the  gowan,^  50 

Fair  hangs  the  apple  frae  the  rock, 

Sweet  the  wave  of  Yarrow  flowan. 


['  daisy.] 


THE    BRAES    OF    YARROW,      365 

Flows  Yarrow  sweet  ?  as  sweet,  as  sweet  flows 
Tweed, 

As  green  its  grass,  its  gowan  as  yellow, 
As  sweet  smells  on  its  braes  the  birk,  55 

The  apple  frae  its  rock  as  mellow. 

Fair  was  thy  luve,  fair  fair  indeed  thy  luve, 
In  flow'ry  bands  thou  didst  him  fetter ; 

Tho'  he  was  fair,  and  weil  beluv'd  again 

Than  me  he  never  luv'd  thee  better.  60 

Busk  ye,  then  busk,  my  bonny  bonny  bride, 
Busk  ye,  busk  ye,  my  winsome  marrow. 

Busk  ye,  and  luve  me  on  the  banks  of  Tweed, 
And  think  nae  mair  on  the  Braes  of  Yarrow. 

C,  How  can  I  busk  a  bonny  bonny  bride  ?  65 

How  can  I  busk  a  winsome  marrow  ? 
How  luve  hirn  upon  the  banks  of  Tweed, 
That  slew  my  luve  on  the  Braes  of  Yarrow  ? 

O  Yarrow  fields,  may  never  never  rain, 

Nor  dew  thy  tender  blossoms  cover,  70 

For  there  was  basely  slain  my  luve. 
My  luve,  as  he  had  not  been  a  lover. 

The  boy  put  on  his  robes,  his  robes  of  green, 
His  purple  vest,  'twas  my  awn  sewing  : 

Ah  !  wretched  me !  I  little,  little  kenn'd  75 

He  was  in  these  to  meet  his  ruin. 

The  boy  took  out  his  milk-white,  milk-white  steed, 
Unheedful  of  my  dule  and  sorrow  : 

But  ere  the  toofalP  of  the  night 

He  lay  a  corps  on  the  Braes  of  Yarrow.         80 


[1  twilight.] 


Z66      THE    BRAES    OF    YARROW. 

Much  I  rejoyc'd  that  waeful  waeful  day ; 

I  sang,  my  voice  the  woods  returning : 
But  lang  ere  night  the  spear  was  flown, 

That  slew  my  luve,  and  left  me  mourning. 

What  can  my  barbarous  barbarous  father  do,     85 
But  with  his  cruel  rage  pursue  me  ? 

My  luver's  blood  is  on  thy  spear, 

How  canst  thou,  barbarous  man,  then  wooe  me? 

My  happy  sisters  may  be,  may  be  proud 

With  cruel,  and  ungentle  scofiin',  90 

May  bid  me  seek  on  Yarrow's  Braes 
My  luver  nailed  in  his  coflftn. 

My  brother  Douglas  may  upbraid,  upbraid, 

And  strive  with  threatning  words  to  muve  me  : 

My  luver's  blood  is  on  thy  spear,  95 

How  canst  thou  ever  bid  me  luve  thee  ? 

Yes,  yes,  prepare  the  bed,  the  bed  of  luve, 
With  bridal  sheets  my  body  cover, 

Unbar,  ye  bridal  maids,  the  door, 

Let  in  the  expected  husband  lover.  i©v. 

But  who  the  expected  husband  husband  is  ? 

His  hands,  methinks,  are  bath'd  in  slaughter  • 
Ah  me  !  what  ghastly  spectre's  yon 

Comes  in  his  pale  shroud,  bleeding  after  ? 

Pale  as  he  is,  here  lay  him,  lay  him  down,         105 
O  lay  his  cold  head  on  my  pillow ; 

Take  aff,  take  aff  these  bridal  weids. 

And  crown  my  careful  head  with  willow. 

Pale  tho'  thou  art,  yet  best,  yet  best  beluv*d, 
O  could  my  warmth  to  life  restore  thee ! 

Yet  lye  all  night  between  my  breists, 
No  youth  lay  ever  there  before  thee. 


i;o 


THE    BRAES    OF    YARROW.     367 

Pale,  pale  indeed,  O  luvely  luvely  youth, 
Forgive,  forgive,  so  foul  a  slaughter, 

And  lye  all  night  between  my  breists,  ^s 

No  youth  shall  ever  lye  there  after. 

A,  Return,  return,  O  mournful,  mournful  bride, 
Return  and  dry  thy  useless  sorrow  : 
Thy  luver  heeds  none  of  thy  sighs, 

He  lyes  a  corps  in  the  Braes  of  Yarrow.       i^o 


XXV. 

ADMIRAL    HOSIER'S   GHOST 

;AS  a  party  song  written  by  the  ingenious  author  of 
Leoiiidas,'^  on  the  taking  of  Porto  Bello  from  the  Spa- 
niards by  Admiral  Vernon,  Nov.  22,  1739. — The  case 
of  Hosier,  which  is  here  so  pathetically  represented, 
was  briefly  this.  In  April,  1726,  that  commander  was  sent  with  a 
strong  fleet  into  the  Spanish  West-Indies,  to  block  up  the  galleons 
ii:  the  ports  of  that  country,  or  should  they  presume  to  come  out, 
to  seize  and  carry  them  into  England:  he  accordingly  arrived  at 
the  Bastimentos  near  Porto  Bello,  but  being  employed  rather  to 
overawe  than  to  attack  the  Spaniards,  with  whom  it  was  probably 
not  our  interest  to  go  to  war,  he  continued  long  inactive  on  that 
station,  to  his  own  great  regret.  Pie  afterwards  removed  to  Cartha- 
gena,  and  remained  cruizing  in  these  seas,  till  far  the  greater  part 
of  his  men  perished  deplorably  by  the  diseases  of  that  unhealthy 
climate.  This  brave  man,  seeing  his  best  officers  and  men  thus 
daily  swept  away,  his  ships  exposed  to  inevitable  destruction,  and 
himself  made  the  sport  of  the  enemy,  is  said  to  have  died  of  a 
broken  heart.  Such  is  the  account  of  Smollett,  compared  with 
that  of  other  less  partial  writers. 

The  following  song  is  commonly  accompanied  with  a  Second 
Part,  or  Answer,  which  being  of  inferior  merit,  and  apparently 
written  by  another  hand,  hath  been  rejected. 


*   An  ingenious  correspondent  informs  the  Editor,  that  this 
ballad  hath  been  also  attributed  to  the  late  Lord  Bath. 


368     ADMIRAL    HOSIER'S    GHOST, 

[Dr.Rimbault  {^Musical Illustratiofis^  p.  30)  writes:  "The  earliest 
copy  of  the  tune  to  this  ballad  is  contained  in  the  ballad  opera  of 
Sylvia,  or  the  Country  Burial,  1731.  It  may  also  be  found  in 
Walsh's  British  Musical  Miscellajiy,  vol.  iv.  and  in  other  works  oi 
a  similar  description.  The  ballads  of  Come  and  listen  to  my  ditty 
and  Cease,  rude  Boreas,  were  sung  to  this  tune,  which  appears  to 
have  been  always  a  favourite  for  '  sea  ditties.* " 

In  Hannah  More's  Life  (vol.  i.  p.  405)  is  the  following  interesting 
note :  "  I  was  much  amused  with  hearing  old  Leonidas  Glover 
sing  his  own  fine  ballad  of  Hosier's  Ghost,  which  was  very  affecting. 
He  is  past  eighty."  In  the  matter  of  the  last  item  Mrs.  More  was 
wrong.  Richard  Glover  was  born  in  17 12,  and  died  on  Nov.  25, 
1785-] 


;S  near  Porto-Bello  lying 

On  the  gently  swelling  flood, 
At  midnight  with  streamers  flying 
Our  triumphant  navy  rode  ; 
There  while  Vernon  sate  all-glorious  5 

From  the  Spaniards'  late  defeat : 

And  his  crews,  with  shouts  victorious, 

Drank  success  to  England's  fleet : 

On  a  sudden  shrilly  sounding, 

Hideous  yells  and  shrieks  were  heard ;  19 

Then  each  heart  with  fear  confounding, 

A  sad  troop  of  ghosts  appear'd, 
All  in  dreary  hammocks  shrouded, 

Which  for  winding-sheets  they  wore. 
And  with  looks  by  sorrow  clouded  15 

Frowninpf  on  that  hostile  shore. 

On  them  gleam'd  the  moon's  wan  lustre, 

When  the  shade  of  Hosier  brave 
His  pale  bands  was  seen  to  muster 

Rising  from  their  watry  grave.  »♦ 


ADMIRAL    HOSIER'S    GHOST.     369 

O'er  the  glimmering  wave  he  hy'd  him, 
Where  the  Burford*  rear  d  her  sail, 

With  three  thousand  ghosts  beside  him, 
And  in  groans  did  Vernon  hail. 

Heed,  oh  heed  our  fatal  story,  «5 

I  am  Hosiers  injur'd  ghost, 
You,  who  now  have  purchased  glory, 

At  this  place  where  I  was  lost ! 
Tho'  in  Porto-Bello's  ruin 

You  now  triumph  free  from  fears,  30 

When  you  think  on  our  undoing, 

You  will  mix  your  joy  with  tears. 

See  these  mournful  spectres  sweeping 

Ghastly  o'er  this  hated  wave, 
Whose  wan  cheeks  are  stain'd  with  weeping ;  35 

These  were  English  captains  brave. 
Mark  those  numbers  pale  and  horrid. 

Those  were  once  my  sailors  bold : 
Lo,  each  hangs  his  drooping  forehead. 

While  his  dismal  tale  is  told.  40 

I,  by  twenty  sail  attended. 

Did  this  Spanish  town  affright; 
Nothing  then  its  wealth  defended 

But  my  orders  not  to  fight. 
Oh  !  that  in  this  rolling  ocean 

I  had  cast  them  with  disdain. 
And  obey'd  my  heart's  warm  motion 

To  have  quell'd  the  pride  of  Spain  ! 

For  resistance  I  could  fear  none. 

But  with  twenty  ships  had  done  50 

What  thou,  brave  and  happy  Vernon, 

Hast  atchiev'd  with  six  alone. 


*  Admiral  Vernon's  ship. 
B  B 


370    ADMIRAL    HOSIER'S    GHOST, 

Then  the  bastimentos  never 

Had  our  foul  dishonour  seen, 
Nor  the  sea  the  sad  receiver  55 

Of  this  gallant  train  had  been. 

Thus,  like  thee,  proud  Spain  dismaying, 

And  her  galleons  leading  home, 
Though  condemn'd  for  disobeying, 

I  had  met  a  traitor's  doom,  60 

To  have  fallen,  my  country  crying 

He  has  play'd  an  English  part, 
Had  been  better  far  than  dying 

Of  a  griev'd  and  broken  heart. 

Unrepining  at  thy  glory,  65 

Thy  successful  arms  we  hail ; 
But  remember  our  sad  story. 

And  let  Hosier  s  wrongs  prevail. 
Sent  in  this  foul  clime  to  languish. 

Think  what  thousands  fell  in  vain,  70 

Wasted  with  disease  and  anguish, 

Not  in  glorious  battle  slain. 

Hence  with  all  my  train  attending 

From  their  oozy  tombs  below, 
Thro'  the  hoary  foam  ascending,  75 

Here  I  feed  my  constant  woe; 
Here  the  bastimentos  viewing, 

We  recal  our  shameful  doom, 
And  our  plaintive  cries  renewing. 

Wander  thro'  the  midnight  gloom.  80 

O'er  these  waves  for  ever  mourning 

Shall  we  roam  depriv'd  of  rest, 
If  to  Britain's  shores  returning 

You  neglect  my  just  request; 


ADMIRAL    HOSIER'S    GHOST.     371 

After  this  proud  foe  subduing,  85 

When  your  patriot  friends  you  see, 

Think  on  vengeance  for  my  ruin, 
And  for  Enoland  sham'd  in  me. 


XXVI. 
JEMMY   DAWSON. 

'AMES  DA  VVSONvfdiS  one  of  the  Manchester  rebels, 
who  was  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered,  on  Kennington- 
common,  in  the  county  of  Surrey,  July  30,  1746. — 
This  ballad  is  founded  on  a  remarkable  fact,  which  was 
reported  to  have  happened  at  his  execution.  It  was  written  by 
the  late  William  Shensto?ie,  Esq;  soon  after  the  event,  and  has 
been  printed  amongst  his  posthumous  works,  2  vols.  8vo.  It  is 
here  given  from  a  MS.  which  contained  some  small  variations  from 
that  printed  copy. 

[Captain  James  Dawson  was  one  of  eight  officers  belonging  to 
the  Manchester  regiment  of  Volunteers  in  the  service  of  the  young 
Chevalier,  who  were  executed  on  Kennington  Common. 

The  following  ballad  is  founded  upon  a  narrative  first  published 
in  a  periodical  entitled  27ie  Parrot,  Saturday,  2d  August,  1746, 
three  days  after  the  occurrence.  In  the  Whitehall  Eveiiiiig  Post, 
Aug.  7,  1746,  the  same  story  is  told  with  the  addition,  that  "upon 
enquiry  every  circumstance  was  literally  true."  Another  ballad  is 
said  to  have  been  written  upon  Dawson's  fate,  and  sung  about  the 
streets.  It  is  reprinted  in  the  European  Magazine,  April,  1801, 
p.  248,  and  begins  as  follows : 

"  Blow  ye  bleak  winds  around  my  head, 
Sooth  my  heart  corroding  care,  &c."] 

OME  listen  to  my  mournful  tale, 
Ye  tender  hearts,  and  lovers  dear ; 
Nor  will  you  scorn  to  heave  a  sigh, 
Nor  will  you  blush  to  shed  a  tear 


19 


372  JEMMY  DAWSON, 

And  thou,  dear  Kitty,  peerless  maid, 

Do  thou  a  pensive  ear  indine ; 
For  thou  canst  weep  at  every  woe, 

And  pity  every  plaint,  but  mine. 

Young  Dawson  was  a  gallant  youth, 

A  brighter  never  trod  the  plain ; 
And  well  he  lov'd  one  charming  maid^ 

And  dearly  was  he  lov'd  again. 

One  tender  maid  she  lov'd  him  dear, 

Of  gentle  blood  the  damsel  came. 
And  faultless  was  her  beauteous  form,  15 

And  spotless  was  her  virgin  fame. 

But  curse  on  party's  hateful  strife. 

That  led  the  faithful  youth  astray 
The  day  ixv^  rebel  clans  appear'd  : 

O  had  he  never  seen  that  day !  «o 

Their  colours  and  their  sash  he  wore. 

And  in  the  faial  dress  was  fouiiu  ; 
And  now  he  must  that  death  endure, 

Which  gives  the  brave  the  keenest  wound. 

How  pale  was  then  his  true  love's  cheek,  45 

When  Jemmy's  sentence  reach'd  her  ear ! 

For  never  yet  did  Alpine  snows 
So  pale,  nor  yet  so  chill  appear. 

With  faltering  voice  she  weeping  said, 

Oh  Dawson,  monarch  of  my  heart,  30 

Think  not  thy  death  shall  end  our  lovea, 
For  thou  and  I  will  never  part. 

Yet  might  sweet  mercy  find  a  place, 

And  bring  relief  to  Jemmy's  woes, 
O  George,  without  a  prayer  for  thee  35 

My  orisons  should  never  close. 


JEMMY  DAWSON.  373 

The  gracious  prince  that  gives  him  life 

Would  crown  a  never-dying  flame, 
And  every  tender  babe  I  bore 

Should  learn  to  lisp  the  giver's  name.  40 

But  though,  dear  youth,  thou  should  st  be  dragg'd 

To  yonder  ignominious  tree, 
Thou  shalt  not  want  a  faithful  friend 

To  share  thy  bitter  fate  with  thee. 

O  then  her  mourning  coach  was  call'd,  45 

The  sledge  mov'd  slowly  on  before  ; 

Tho'  borne  in  a  triumphal  car. 

She  had  not  lov'd  her  favourite  more. 

She  followed  him,  prepar'd  to  view 

The  terrible  behests  of  law  ; 
And  the  last  scene  of  Jemmy's  woes 

With  calm  and  stedfast  eye  she  saw. 

Distorted  was  that  blooming  face. 
Which  she  had  fondly  lov'd  so  long  : 

And  stifled  was  that  tuneful  breath,  55 

Which  in  her  praise  had  sweetly  sung : 

And  sever'd  was  that  beauteous  neck, 
Round  which  her  arms  had  fondly  clos'd: 

And  mangled  was  that  beauteous  breast, 

On  which  her  love-sick  head  repos'd :  60 

And  ravish'd  was  that  constant  heart, 

She  did  to  every  heart  prefer ; 
For  tho'  it  could  his  king  forget, 

'Twas  true  and  loyal  still  to  her. 

Amid  those  unrelenting  flames  65 

She  bore  this  constant  heart  to  see ; 

But  when  'twas  moulder'd  into  dust, 
Now,  now,  she  cried,  I'll  follow  thee. 


374  JEMMY   DA  WSON. 

My  death,  my  death  alone  can  show 

The  pure  and  lasting  love  I  bore  :  70 

Accept,  O  heaven,  of  woes  like  ours, 

And  let  us,  let  us  weep  no  more. 

The  dismal  scene  was  o'er  and  past, 
The  lover's  mournful  hearse  retir'd ; 

The  maid  drew  back  her  languid  head,  ^^ 

And  sighing  forth  his  name,  explr'd. 

Tho'  justice  ever  must  prevail, 

The  tear  my  Kitty  sheds  Is  due ; 
For  seldom  shall  she  hear  a  tale 

So  sad,  so  tender,  and  so  true.  »a 


THE   END    OF   THE   THIRD    BOOK^ 


APPENDIX. 


«u^&^ 


APPENDIX. 

ON     THE    ALLITERATIVE    METRE, 

WITHOUT  RHYME,  IN  PIERCE 

PLOWMAN'S   VISIONS. 


E  learn  from  Wormius  (a),  that  the  ancient 
Islandic  poets  used  a  great  variety  of 
measures  :  he  mentions  1 36  different 
kinds,  without  including  rhyme,  or  a 
correspondence  of  final  syllables,  yet  this  was  occa- 
sionally used,  as  appears  from  the  Ode  of  Egil, 
which  Wormius  hath  inserted  in  his  book. 

He  hath  analysed  the  structure  of  one  of  these 
kinds  of  verse,  the  harmony  of  which  neither  de- 
pended on  the  quantity  of  the  syllables,  like  that  of 
the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans  ;  nor  on  the  rhymes 
at  the  end,  as  in  modern  poetry ;  but  consisted  al- 
together in  alliteration,  or  a  certain  artful  repetition 
of  the  sounds  in  the  middle  of  the  verses.  This  was 
adjusted  according  to  certain  rules  of  their  prosody, 

(a)  Literaiura  Runica.  Hafnise,  1636,  4to. — 1651,  fol.  The 
Islandic  language  is  of  the  same  origm  as  our  Anglo-Saxon,  being 
both  dialects  of  the  ancient  Gothic  or  Teutonic.  Vid.  liickesti 
Prcefat,  in  Grammat.  Anglo-Saxon.  &>  Moeso-Goth.  4to.  1689. 


37^     ALLITERATIVE    METRE    IN 

one  of  which  was,  that  every  distich  should  contain 
at  least  three  words  beginning  with  the  same  letter 
or  sound.  Two  of  these  correspondent  sounds  might 
be  placed  either  in  the  first  or  second  line  of  the 
distich,  and  one  in  the  other :  but  all  three  were  not 
regularly  to  be  crowded  into  one  line.  This  will  be 
best  understood  by  the  following  examples  (<5) : 

*'  MeivQ  og  MinnQ  "  Gab  G^fnunga 

J/ogu  heimdaller.'*  Enn  Gva.s  huerge.'* 

There  were  many  other  little  niceties  observed  by 
the  Islandic  poets,  who,  as  they  retained  their  origi- 
nal language  and  peculiarities  longer  than  the  other 
nations  of  Gothic  race,  had  time  to  cultivate  their 
native  poetry  more,  and  to  carry  it  to  a  higher  pitch 
of  refinement,  than  any  of  the  rest. 

Their  brethren,  the  Anglo-Saxon  poets,  occa- 
sionally used  the  same  kind  of  alliteration,  and  it  Is 
common  to  meet,  in  their  writings,  with  similar 
examples  of  the  foregoing  rules.  Take  an  instance 
or  two  in  modern  characters  (c)  : 

"  Skeop  tha  and  »S>^yrede  "  ZTam  and  ZTeahsetl 

^S/^yppend  ure."  ZTeofena  rikes." 

I  know  not,  however,  that  there  is  anywhere  extant 
an  entire  Saxon  poem  all  in  this  measure.  But  dis- 
tichs  of  this  sort  perpetually  occur  in  all  their  poems 
of  any  length. 

Now  if  we  examine  the  versification  of  Pierce 
Plowman's  Visions,  we  shall  find  it  constructed  ex- 
actly by  these  rules ;  and  therefore  each  line,  as 
printed,  is  in  reality  a  distich  of  two  verses,  and  will, 
I  believe,  be  found  distinguished  as  such,  by  some 
mark  or  other  in  all  the  ancient  MSS.  viz.  : 


{b)  Vid.  Hickes  Antiq.  Liter atur.  Septentrional,  torn.  i.  p.  217, 
(0  JbtcL 


PIERCE   PLOWMAN'S    VISIONS,     379 

*'  In  a  6*00161  6'eason,  |  when  *  hot^^)  was  the  6*0006, 
I  ^//ope  me  into  ^/^roubs,  |  as  I  a  67/epe  were  j 
In  ZTabite  as  an  ZTarmet  |  unholy  of  werkes, 
JFent  /^yde  in  thys  world  |   /^Fonders  to  heare,  &c.'* 

So  that  the  author  of  this  poem  will  not  be  found  to 
have  invented  any  new  mode  of  versification,  as 
some  have  supposed,  but  only  to  have  retained  that 
of  the  old  Saxon  and  Gothic  poets ;  which  was  pro- 
bably never  wholly  laid  aside,  but  occasionally  used 
at  different  intervals  :  though  the  ravages  of  time  will 
not  suffer  us  now  to  produce  a  regular  series  of  poems 
entirely  written  in  it. 

There  are  some  readers  whom  it  may  gratify  to 
mention,  that  these  Visions  of  Pierce  {i.e.  Peter)  the 
Plowman,  are  attributed  to  Robert  Langland,  a 
secular  priest,  born  at  Mortimer's  Cleobury  in  Shrop- 
shire, and  fellow  of  Oriel  College  in  Oxford,  who 
flourished  in  the  reigns  of  Edward  III.  and  Richard 
II.,  and  published  his  poem  a  few  years  after  1350. 
It  consists  of  XX.  passus  or  breaks  (^),  exhibiting 
a  series  of  visions  which,  he  pretends,  happened  to 
him  on  Malvern  hills  in  Worcestershire.  The  author 
excells  in  strong  allegoric  painting,  and  has  with 
great  humour,  spirit,  and  fancy,  censured  most  of  the 
vices  incident  to  the  several  professions  of  life;  but 
he  particularly  inveighs  against  the  corruptions  of 
the  clergy,  and  the  absurdities  of  superstition.  Of 
this  work  I  have  now  before  me  four  different 
editions  in  black-letter  quarto.  Three  of  them  are 
printed  in  1550,  ''by  Robert  Crowley,  dwelling  in  Elye 


{d)  So  I  would  read  with  Mr.  Warton,  rather  than  either  *'  soft," 
as  in  MS.  or  ''  set,"  as  in  PCC. 

{e)  The  poem  properly  contains  xxi.  parts :  the  word  passiis, 
adopted  by  the  author,  seems  only  to  denote  the  break  or  di- 
vision between  two  parts,  though  by  the  ignorance  of  the  printer 
applied  to  the  parts  themselves.  See  vol.  iii.  pieface  to  ballad  iii. 
where  Passus  seems  to  signify  Pause. 


38o     ALLITERATIVE   METRE    IN 

Rentes  in  Holburne."  It  is  remarkable  that  two  ot 
these  are  mentioned  in  the  title-page  as  both  of  the 
second  impression,  though  they  contain  evident 
variations  in  every  page  (/").  The  other  is  said  to 
be  '*  newlye  imprynted  after  the  authors  olde  copy 
•  .   .  .  by  Owen  Rogers,"  Feb.  21,  1561. 

As  Langland  was  not  the  first,  so  neither  was  he 
the  last  that  used  this  alliterative  species  of  versifi- 
cation. To  Rogers's  edition  of  the  Visions  is  sub- 
joined a  poem,  which  was  probably  writ  in  imitation 
of  them,  intitled  Pierce  the  P lottghmaTi! s  Crede.  It 
begins  thus  : 

"  6ros,  and  Curteis  Christ,  this  beginning  spede 
For  the  /^aders  i^rendshipe,  that  Fouvrntd  heaven, 
And  through  the  6^ecial  Spirit,  that  Spxong  of  hem  tweyne, 
And  al  in  one  godhed  endles  dwelleth."    - 

The  author  feigns  himself  ignorant  of  his  Creed,  to 
be  instructed  in  which  he  applies  to  the  four  religious 
orders,  viz.,  the  gray  friers  of  St.  Francis,  the  black 
friers  of  St.  Dominic,  the  Carmelites  or  white  friers, 
and  the  Augustines.  This  affords  him  occasion  to  de- 
scribe in  very  lively  colours  the  sloth,  ignorance,  and 
immorality  of  those  reverend  drones.  At  length  he 
meets  with  Pierce,  a  poor  ploughman,  w^ho  resolves 
his  doubts,  and  instructs  him  in  the  principles  of 
true  religion.  The  author  was  evidently  a  follower 
of  Wiccliff,  whom  he  mentions  (with  honour)  as  no 
longer  living  {g).  Now  that  reformer  died  in  1384. 
How  long  after  his  death  this  poem  was  written, 
does  not  appear. 

(/)  That  which  seems  the  first  of  the  two,  is  thus  distinguished 
in  the  title-page,  "  nowe  the  seconde  tyme  imprinted  by  Roberta 
Crowlye ;"  the  other  thus,  "nowe  the  seconde  time  imprinted  by 
Robert  Crowley."  In  the  former  the  folios  are  thus  erroneously 
numbered  39,  39,  41,  63,  43,  42,  45,  &c.  The  booksellers  of 
those  days  did  not  ostentatiously  affect  to  multiply  editions. 

{,s^)  Signature  T.  ii. 


PIERCE    PLOWMAN'S    VISIONS.     381 

In  the  Cotton  library  is  a  volume  of  ancient  Eng- 
lish poems  {Ii),  two  of  which  are  written  in  this 
alliterative  metre,  and  have  the  division  of  the  lines 
into  distichs  distinctly  marked  by  a  point,  as  is  usual 
in  old  poetical  MSS.  That  which  stands  first  of  the 
two  (though  perhaps  the  latest  written)  is  entitled 
The  Sege  of  lerlam,  [i.e.  Jerusalem),  being  an  old 
fabulous  legend  composed  by  some  monk,  and  stuffed 
with  marvellous  figments  concerning  the  destruction 
of  the  holy  city  and  temple.     It  begins  thus  : 

"  In  Tyberius  TymQ  .  the  Z'rewe  emperour 

^yr  ^esar  hymself  .  be<5ted  in  Rome 

Whyll  ^ylat  was  i^rovoste  .  under  that  i^ynce  ryche 

Andyewes /ustice  also  .  ofyiideas  londe 

ZTerode  under  enipere  .  as  ZTerytage  wolde 

A'yng,  &c." 

The  other  is  intitled  Chevalere  Assigne  (or  De 
eigne),  that  is,  The  Knight  of  the  Swan,  being  an 
ancient  Romance,  beginning  thus  : 

"  All-  J^eldynge  God  .  ?Fhene  it  is  his  W^ylle 
IVqIq  he  ?l^ereth  his  J^erke  .  ^'Fith  his  owene  honde 
For  ofte  iTarmes  were  Jifente  .  that  ZTelpe  we  ne  my^te 
Nere  the  ZTy^nes  of  ZTym  .  that  lengeth  in  ZTevene 
For  this,  &c/' 

Among  Mr.  Garrick's  collection  of  old  plays  (z)  is  a . 
prose  narrative  of  the  adventures  of  this  same  Knight 
of  the  Swan,  *'  newly  translated  out  of  Frenshe 
into  Englyshe,  at  thinstigacion  of  the  puyssaunt  and 
illustryous  prynce,  lorde  Edward  duke  of  Buckyng- 
hame."  This  lord  it  seems  had  a  peculiar  interest 
in  the  book,  for,  in  the  preface,  the  translator  tells  us, 
that  this  "highe  dygne  and  illustryous  prynce  my 
lorde  Edwarde  by  the  grace  of  god  Duke  of  Buck- 
yngham,  erle  of  Hereforde,  Stafforde,  and  North- 
ampton,   desyrynge    cotydyally    to     encrease    and 

(//)  Caligula  A.  ij.  fol.  109.  123.  (/)  K.  vol.  x. 


3^2     ALLITERATIVE   METRE   IN 

augment  the  name  and  fame  of  such  as  were  relucent 
in  vertuous  feates  and  triumphaunt  actes  of  chyvalry, 
and  to  encourage  and  styre  every  lusty  and  gentell 
herte  by  the  exemplyficacyon  of  the  same,  havyng  a 
goodU  booke  of  the  highe  and  miraculous  histori  of 
a  famous  and  puyssaunt  kynge,  named  Oryant, 
sometime  reynynge  in  the  parties  of  be3^onde  the 
sea,  havynge  to  his  wife  a  noble  lady  ;  of  whome  she 
conceyved  sixe  sonnes  and  a  daughter,  and  chylded 
of  them  at  one  only  time  ;  at  whose  byrthe  echone  of 
them  had  a  chayne  of  sylver  at  their  neckes,  the 
whiche  were  all  tourned  by  the  provydence  of  god 
into  whyte  swannes,  save  one,  of  the  whiche  this 
present  hystory  is  compyled,  named  Helyas,  the 
knight  of  the  swanne,  of  whome  linially  is  dyscended 
Tny  sayde  lorde.  The  whiche  ententifiy  to  have  the 
sayde  hystory  more  amply  and  unyversally  knowen 
in  thys  hys  natif  countrie,  as  it  is  in  other,  hath  of 
hys  hie  bountie  by  some  of  his  faithful  and  trusti 
servauntes  cohorted  mi  mayster  Wynkin  de  Worde(/^) 
to  put  the  said  vertuous  hystori  in  prynte  .... 
at  whose  instigacion  and  stiring  I  (Roberte  Copland) 
have  me  applied,  moiening  the  helpe  of  god,  to 
reduce  and  translate  it  into  our  maternal  and  vulgare 
english  tonge  after  the  capacite  and  rudenesse  of  my 
weke  entendement."  A  curious  picture  of  the  times! 
While  in  Italy  literature  and  the  fine  arts  were  ready 
to  burst  forth  with  classical  splendor  under  Leo  X. 
the  first  peer  of  this  realm  was  proud  to  derive  his 
pedigree  from  a  fabulous  knight  of  the  swan  (/)  ! 


{k)  W.  de  Worde's  edit,  is  in  15 12.  See  Ames,  p.  92.  Mr.  G.'s 
copy  is  "  %  Imprinted  at  London  by  me  Wylliam  Copland." 

(/)  He  is  said  in  the  story-book  to  be  the  grandfather  of  God- 
frey of  Boulogne,  through  whom  I  suppose  the  duke  made  out  his 
relation  to  him.  This  duke  was  beheaded  May  17,  1521,  13  Hen. 
VIII. 


PIERCE    PLOWMAN'S    VISIONS,     383 

To  return  to  the  metre  of  Pierce  Plowman  :  In 
the  foHo  MS.  so  often  quoted  in  these  volumes,  are 
two  poems  written  In  that  species  of  versification. 
One  of  these  is  an  ancient  allegorical  poem  intitled 
Death  and  Life,  (in  2  fitts  or  parts,  containing  458 
distichs)  which,  for  ought  that  appears,  may  have 
Heen  written  as  early,  if  not  before,  the  time  ot 
Langland.  The  first  forty  lines  are  broke  as  they 
should  be  into  distichs,  a  distinction  that  is  neglected 
In  the  remaining  part  of  the  transcript,  in  order,  I 
suppose,  to  save  room.     It  begins  : 

*'  C//nst  C/^risten  king, 

that  on  the  Crosse  tholed; 
Hadd  Pd\x\Q.%  and  /^<^ssyons 

to  defend  our  soules ; 
Give  us  6^race  on  the  (Ground 

the  6^reatlye  to  serve, 
For  that  i?oyall  -/?ed  blood 

that  i?ann  from  thy  side." 

The  subject  of  this  piece  is  a  vision,  wherein  the 
poet  sees  a  contest  for  superiority  between  "  our 
lady  Dame  Life,"  and  the  ''  ugly  fiend  Dame  Death;" 
who  with  their  several  attributes  and  concomitants 
are  personified  in  a  fine  vein  of  allegoric  painting. 
Part  of  the  description  of  Dame  Life  is  : 

"  Shee  was  brighter  of  her  ^lee, 

then  was  the  j5right  sonn : 
Her  i?udd  i?edder  then  the  i?ose, 

that  on  the  i?ise  hangeth : 
il/eekely  smiling  with  her  J/buth, 

And  J/erry  in  her  lookes ; 
Ever  Zaughing  for  Zove, 

as  shee  Zike  would. 
And  as  shee  came  by  the  ^ankes, 

the  j^oughes  eche  one 
They  Zowted  to  that  Zadye, 

and  Zayd  forth  their  branches ; 
.^lossomes,  and  j5urgens 

-breathed  full  sweete ; 


384    ALLTTERAirVE    METRE    IN 

i^lowers  T^lourished  in  the  i^rith, 

where  shee  /brth  stepped ; 
And  the  6^rasse,  that  was  6^ray, 

6^reened  behve." 

Death  is  afterwards  sketched  out  with  a  no  less  bold 
and  original  pencil. 

The  other  poem  is  that  which  is  quoted  in  the  32nd 
page  of  this  volume,  and  which  was  probably  the  last 
that  v/as  ever  written  in  this  kind  of  metre  in  its  ori- 
ginal simplicity  unaccompanied  with  'rhyme.  It 
should  have  been  observed  above  in  page  32,  that  in 
this  poem  the  lines  are  throughout  divided  into  dis- 
tichs,  thus  : 

"  <?rant  6^racious  God, 
6^rant  me  this  time,"  &c. 

It  is  intitled  Scottish  Feilde  (in  2  fitts,  420  distichs,) 
containing  a  very  circumstantial  narrative  of  the  battle 
of  Flodden,  fought  Sept.  9,  15 13  :  at  which  the  author 
seems  to  have  been  present  from  his  speaking  in  the 
first  person  plural  : 

"  Then  we  T'ild  downe  our  Tents, 
that  Told  were  a  thousand." 

In  the  conclusion  of  the  poem  he  gives  this  account 

of  himself: 

"  He  was  a  6^entleman  byyesu, 

that  this  6'est  {m)  made : 
Which  ^S'ay  but  as  he  ^Sayd  («) 

for  6'ooth  and  noe  other. 
At  ^agily  that  ^eame 

his  hiding  place  had ; 
And  his  ancestors  of  old  time 

have  yearded  {p)  theire  longe, 
Before  William  Conquerour 

this  Cuntry  did  inhabitt. 


{ni)  Jest,  MS. 

\n)  Probably  corrupted  for — "  -Says  but  as  he  ^Saw." 

\o)  Yearded,  i.e.  buried,  earthed^  carded.     It  is  common  to  pro- 


PIERCE    PLOWMAN'S    VISIONS.     385 

Jesus  Br'mg  '  them'(/)  to  ^lisse, 

that  brought  us  forth  of  Bale, 
That  hath  iTearkned  me  iTeare 

or  Zz^eard  my  tale,'' 

The  village  of  Bagily  or  Baguleigh  Is  in  Cheshire, 
and  had  belonged  to  the  ancient  family  of  Legh  for 
two  centuries  before  the  battle  of  Flodden.  Indeed 
that  the  author  was  of  that  county  appears  from 
other  passages  in  the  body  of  the  poem,  particu- 
larly from  the  pains  he  takes  to  wipe  off  a  stain 
from  the  Cheshiremen,  who  it  seems  ran  away  In 
that  battle,  and  from  his  encomiums  on  the  Stanleys, 
earls  of  Derby,  who  usually  headed  that  county. 
He  laments  the  death  of  James  Stanley,  bishop  of 
Ely,  as  what  had  recently  happened  when  this  poem 
was  written ;  which  serves  to  ascertain  its  date,  for 
that  prelate  died  March  22,  15 14-5. 

Thus  have  we  traced  the  alliterative  measure  so 
low  as  the  sixteenth  century.  It  is  remarkable  that 
all  such  poets  as  used  this  kind  of  metre,  retained 
along  with  it  many  peculiar  Saxon  idioms,  particu- 
larly such  as  were  appropriated  to  poetry :  this  de- 
serves the  attention  of  those  who  are  desirous  to 
recover  the  laws  of  the  ancient  Saxon  poesy,  usually 
given  up  as  inexplicable :  I  am  of  opinion  that  they 
will  find  what  they  seek  in  the  metre  of  Pierce 
Plowman  [q) . 

About  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century  this 
kind  of  versification  began  to  change  its  form  :  the 
author  of  Scottish  Fields  we  see,  concludes  his  poem 
with  a  couplet  in  rhyme :  this  was  an  innovation  that 
did  but  prepare  the  way  for  the  general  admission  of 

nounce  "  Earth,"  in  some  parts  of  England  "  Yearth,"  particularly 
in  the  north. — Pitscottie  speaking  of  James  III.  slain  at  Bannock- 
bourn,  says,  "  Nae  man  wot  whar  \kiQy  yeai-ded  him." 

(/)  "us."  MS.     In  the  2d  line  above,  the  MS.  has  "bidding." 
{q)  And  in  that  of  Robert  of  Gloucester-     See  the  next  note. 
2  C  C 


386     ALLITERATIVE    METRE   IN 

that  more  modish  ornament ;  till  at  length  the  old 
uncouth  verse  of  the  ancient  writers  would  no  longer 
go  down  without  it.  Yet  when  rhyme  began  to  be 
superadded,  all  the  niceties  of  alliteration  were  at  first 
retained  along  with  it ;  and  the  song  of  Littce  y^'hn 
Nobody  exhibits  this  union  very  clearly.  By  degrees 
the  correspondence  of  final  sounds  engrossing  the 
whole  attention  of  the  poet,  and  fully  satisfying  the 
reader,  the  internal  imbelllshment  of  alliteration  was 
no  longer  studied,  and  thus  was  this  kind  of  metre  at 
length  swallowed  up  and  lost  In  our  common  burlesque 
Alexandrine,  or  Anapestic  verse  (r),  now  never  used 
but  in  ballads  and  pieces  of  light  humour,  as  in  the 
song  of  Conscience,  and  in  that  well-known  doggerel, 

"  A  cobler  there  was,  and  he  lived  in  a  stall." 

But  although  this  kind  of  measure  hath  with  us 
been  thus  degraded,  it  still  retains  among  the  French 


(r)  Consisting  of  four  Anapests  (  ^  v^  -)  in  which  the  accent 
rests  upon  every  third  syllable.  This  kind  of  verse,  which  I  also 
call  the  burlesque  Alexandrine  (to  distinguish  it  from  the  other 
Alexandrines  of  eleven  and  fourteen  syllables,  the  parents  of  our 
3yric  measure  :  see  examples,  pp.  151,  152,  &c.),  was  early  applied 
by  Robert  of  Gloucester  to  serious  subjects.  That  writer's  metre, 
like  this  of  Langland's,  is  formed  on  the  Saxon  models  (each  verse 
of  his  containing  a  Saxon  distich),  only  instead  of  the  internal 
alliterations  adopted  by  Langland,  he  rather  chose  final  rhymes,  as 
the  French  poets  have  done  since.    Take  a  specimen : 

"  The  Saxons  tho  in  ther  power,  tho  thii  were  so  rive, 
Seve  kingdoms  made  in  Engelonde,  and  suthe  but  vive: 
The  king  of  Northomberlond,  and  of  Eastangle  also. 
Of  Kent,  and  of  Westsex,  and  of  the  March,  therto." 

Robert  of  Gloucester  wrote  in  the  western  dialect,  and  his  language 
■differs  exceedingly  from  that  of  other  contemporary  writers,  who 
resided  in  the  metropoHs,  or  in  the  midland  counties.  Had  the 
Heptarchy  continued,  our  English  language  would  probably  have 
been  as  much  distinguished  for  its  different  dialects  as  the  Greek; 
or  at  least  as  that  of  the  several  independent  states  of  Italy. 


PIERCE    PLOWMAN  S    VISIONS,     3S7 

its  ancient  dignity ;  their  grand  heroic  verse  of  twelve 
syllables  (i")  is  the  same  genuine  offspring  of  the  old 
alliterative  metre  of  the  ancient  Gothic  and  Francic 
poets,  stript  like  our  Anapestic  of  its  alliteration,  and 
ornamented  with  rhyme  :  but  with  this  difference,  that 
whereas  this  kind  of  verse  hath  been  appHed  by  us 
only  to  light  and  trivial  subjects,  to  which  by  its 
quick  and  lively  measure  it  seemed  best  adapted,  our 
poets  have  let  it  remain  in  a  more  lax  unconfined 
state  (/),  as  a  greater  degree  of  severity  and  strictness 
would  have  been  inconsistent  with  the  light  and  airy 
subjects  to  which  they  have  applied  it.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  French  having  retained  this  verse  as  the 
vehicle  of  their  epic  and  tragic  flights,  in  order  to 
give  it  a  stateliness  and  dignity  were  obliged  to  con- 
fine it  to  more  exact  laws  of  scansion  :  they  have 
therefore  limited  it  to  the  number  of  twelve  syllables ; 
and  by  making   the   caesura   or   pause  as    full  and 

if)  Or  of  thirteen  syllables,  in  what  they  call  a  feminine  verse. 
It  is  remarkable  that  the  French  alone  have  retained  this  old  Gothic 
metre  for  their  serious  poems ;  while  the  English,  Spaniards,  &c. 
have  adopted  the  Italic  verse  of  ten  syllables,  although  the  Spa- 
niards, as  well  as  we,  anciently  used  a  short-lined  metre.  I  be- 
lieve the  success  with  which  Petrarch,  and  perhaps  one  or  two 
others,  first  used  the  heroic  verse  of  ten  syllables  in  Italian  poesy, 
recommended  it  to  the  Spanish  writers  j  as  it  also  did  to  our 
Chaucer,  who  first  attempted  it  in  English  ;  and  to  his  successors 
Lord  Surrey,  Sir  Thomas  Wyat,  &c. ;  who  afterwards  improved  it 
and  brought  it  to  perfection.  To  Lord  Surrey  we  also  owe  the  first 
introduction  of  blank  verse  in  his  versions  of  the  second  and 
fourth  Books  of  the  yEneid^  i557)  4^0. 

(/)  Thus  our  poets  use  this  verse  indifferently  with  twelve, 
eleven,  and  even  ten  syllables.  For  though  regularly  it  consists 
of  four  Anapests  (  v^  v^  -  )  or  twelve  syllables,  yet  they  frequently 
retrench  a  syllable  from  the  first  or  third  Anapest ;  and  sometimes 
from  both ;  as  in  these  instances  from  Prior,  and  from  the  Song 
of  Conscience: 

"  Who  has  eer  been  at  Paris,  must  needs  know  the  Greve, 

The  fatal  retreat  of  th^  iinfortiinate  brave. 

He  stept  to  him  straight,  and  did  him  require." 


388     ALLITERATIVE    METRE    IN 

distinct  as  possible,  and  by  other  severe  restrictions, 
have  given  it  all  the  solemnity  of  which  it  was  capable. 
The  harmony  of  both  however  depends  so  much  on 
the  same  flow  of  cadence  and  disposal  of  the  pause, 
that  they  appear  plainly  to  be  of  the  same  original ; 
and  every  French  heroic  verse  evidently  consists  ot 
the  ancient  distich  of  their  Francic  ancestors  :  which, 
by  the  way,  will  account  to  us  why  this  verse  of  the 
French  so  naturally  resolves  Itself  Into  two  complete 
hemistics.  And  indeed  by  making  the  caesura  or 
pause  always  to  rest  on  the  last  syllable  of  a  word, 
and  by  making  a  kind  of  pause  in  the  sense,  the 
French  poets  do  in  effect  reduce  their  hemistics  to 
two  distinct  and  independent  verses  :  and  some  of 
their  old  poets  have  gone  so  far  as  to  make  the  two 
hemistics  rhyme  to  each  other.  (^/) 

After  all,  the  old  alliterative  and  anapestic  m^etre 
of  the  English  poets  being  chiefly  used  In  a  barbarous 
age,  and  in  a  rude  unpolished  language,  abounds  with 
verses  defective  In  length,  proportion,  and  harmony ; 
and  therefore  cannot  enter  Into  a  comparison  with 
the  correct  versification  of  the  best  modern  French 
writers  ;  but  making  allowances  for  these  defects,  that 
sort  of  metre  runs  with  a  cadence  so  exactly  re- 
sembling the  French  heroic  Alexandrine,  that  I 
believe  no  peculiarities  of  their  versification  can  be 
produced,  which  cannot  be  exactly  matched  In  the 
alliterative  metre.  I  shall  give  by  way  of  example  a 
few  lines  from  the  modem  French  poets  accommo- 
dated with  parallels  from  the  ancient  poem  of  Life 
and  Death;  In  these  I  shall  denote  the  caesura  or 
pause  by  a  perpendicular  line,  and  the  cadence  by  the 
marks  of  the  Latin  quantity. 


{il)  See  instances  in  L^Hist.  de  la  Foesie  Fran fot'se,  par  MassieUj 
&c.  In  the  same  book  are  also  specimens  of  alliterative  French 
verses. 


PTERCE    PLOWMAN'S    VISIONS.     389 


Le  succes  flit  ioujonrs  \ 

All  shall  drye  with  the  dints 

IJ homme  prudent  voit  trdp 
Yonder  damsel  is  death        | 

L'hitrepide  voit  mieux  \ 

When  she  dolefully  saw      | 

Mhne  aux  yeux  de  rinjuste 
Then  she  cast  tip  a  crye        | 

Du  mhisonge  toujow's  \ 

Thou  shalt  bitterlye  bye         | 

Pour paroitre  hofinete  homine 
Thus  I  fared  throughe  a  frythe 


un  enfant  de  V  dudace  ; 
I       that  I  deal  with  my  hands. 

j  r illusion  le  suit, 

that  dresseth  her  to  smite. 

et  lefdntomefiiit.  {x) 
how  she  dang  downe  hir  f5lke. 

un  injTiste  est  horrible,  {y) 
to  the  high  king  of  heaven. 

le  vrdi  dhneure  mditre, 
or  else  the  booke  faileth. 

I       en  un  mot,  ilfdut  Vetre.iz) 
where  the  flowers  were  miinye. 


To  conclude :  the  metre  of  Pierce  Plowman's  Visions 
has  no  kind  of  affinity  with  what  is  commonly  called 
blank  verse  ;  yet  has  it  a  sort  of  harmony  of  its  own, 
proceeding  not  so  much  from  its  alliteration,  as  from 
the  artful  disposal  of  its  cadence,  and  the  contrivance 
of  its  pause ;  so  that  when  the  ear  is  a  little  accus- 
tomed to  it,  it  is  by  no  means  unpleasing ;  but  claims 
all  the  merit  of  the  French  heroic  numbers,  only 
far  less  polished ;  being  sweetened,  instead  of  their 
final  rhymes,  with  the  internal  recurrence  of  similar 
sounds. 

{x)  Catalina,  A.  3.         (j)  Boileau  Sat.  {£)  Boil.  Sat.  ii. 


390    ALLITERATIVE   METRE    IN 


o 


ADDITIONS    TO    THE    ESSAY    ON    THE 
ALLITERATIVE    METRE. 

INCE  the  foregoing  essay  was  first  printed, 
the  Editor  hath  met  with  some  additional 
examples  of  the  old  alliterative  metre. 
The  first  is  in  MS.(^)  which  begins  thus: 

**  Crist  Crowned  A!yng,  that  on  Cros  didest,(<5) 

And  art  Comfort  of  all  Care,  thow(^)  kind  go  out  of  Cours, 

With  thi  Z^alwes  in  ZTeven  ZTeried  mote  thu  be, 

And  thy  /Worshipful  ?^erkes  Worshiped  evre, 

That  suche  *Sondry  >Signes  6'hewest  unto  man, 

In  Z^remyng,  in  i!)recchyng,(^)  and  in  Z^erke  swevenes." 

The  Author  from  this  proemium  takes  occasion 
to  give  an  account  of  a  dream  that  happened  to  him- 
self :  which  he  introduces  with  the  following  circum- 
stances : 

"  Cnes  y  me  Crdayned,  as  y  have  Cfte  doon, 

With  i^rendes,  and  ^elawes,  i^rendemen,  and  other ; 

And  Caught  me  in  a  Company  on  Corpus  Christi  even, 

*Six,  other  ((?)  ^Seven  myle,  oute  of -Suthampton, 

To  take  J/elodye,  and  J/irthes,  among  my  i^/akes ; 

With  i^edyng  of  Romaunces,  and  i?evelyng  among, 

The  Z?ym  of  the  Z>erknesse  Z^rewe  me  into  the  west; 

And  be  Con  for  to  spryng  in  the  Crey  day. 

Than  Zift  y  up  my  Zyddes,  and  Zoked  in  the  sky, 

And  ZTnewe  by  the  Xende  Cours,  hit  clered  in  the  est : 

-^lyve  y  Z'usked  me  down,  and  to  Z*ed  went, 

For  to  Comforte  my  Aynde,  and  Cacche  a  slepe." 

He  then  describes  his  dream  : 


{d)  In  a  small  4to.  MS.  containing  thirty-eight  leaves  in  private 
hands. 

ib)  Didst  dye.  (t)  though,  id)  being  overpowered. 

(<r)  /.  e.  either,  or. 


PIERCE    PLOWMAN'S    VISIONS,     391 

"  Methought  that  y  ZToved  on  H\^\  on  an  H\S\.j 

And  loked  Z>oun  on  a  Z>ale  Z^epest  of  othre ; 

Ther  y  6'a\ve  in  my  ^'ighte  a  ^elcouthe  peple  ; 

The  yl/ultitude  was  so  J/oche,  it  J/ighte  not  be  nombred: 

Methoughte  y  herd  a  Crowned  iTyng,  of  his  Comunes  axe 

A  »Soleyne(/)  5ubsidie,  to  6'usteyne  his  werres. 
*  *  *  * 

With  that  a  Clerk  Aneled  adowne  and  Carped  these  wordes, 

Ziege  Zord,  yif  it  you  Zike  to  Zisten  a  while, 
Soto,  ^awes  of  6'alomon  y  shall  you  shewe  sone." 

The  writer  then  gives  a  solemn  lecture  to  kings  on 
the  art  of  governing.  From  the  demand  of  subsidies 
"  to  susteyne  his  werres,"  I  am  inclined  to  believe  this 
poem  composed  in  the  reign  of  K.  Henry  V.,  as  the 
MS.  appears  from  a  subsequent  entry  to  have  been 
written  before  the  9th  of  Henry  VI.  The  whole 
poem  contains  but  146  lines. 

The  alliterative  metre  was  no  less  popular  among 
the  old  Scottish  poets,  than  with  their  brethren  on  this 
side  the  Tweed.  In  Maitland's  collection  of  ancient 
Scottish  poems,  MS.  in  the  Pepyslan  library,  is  a 
very  long  poem  in  this  species  of  versification,  thus 
inscribed  : 

^'  Heir  begins  the  Tretis  of  the  Twa  Marriit  Wemen,  and  the  Wedo, 
compylit  be  Maister  William  Dunbar. {g) 
Upon  the  JZidsummer  evven  JZirriest  of  nichtis 
I  J/livit  furth  alane  quhen  as  Midnight  was  past 
Besyd  ane  C^udlie  Crene  6^arth,(/z)  full  of  Cay  flouris 
ZTegeit  (2)  of  ane  ZTuge  ZTicht  with  Zi'awthorne  treeis 
Quairon  ane  Zird  on  ane  Zransche  so  Zirst  out  hir  notis 
That  nevir  ane  ZlythfullerZird  was  on  the  Zeuche(/&)  hard  &c." 

The  Author  pretends  to  overhear  three  gossips 
sitting  in  an  arbour,  and  revealing  all  their  secret 

(/)  solemn. 

(^)  Since  the  above  w^as  written,  this  poem  hath  been  printed 
in  Ancient  Scottish  Poems,  ^^c.  from  the  MS.  Collections  of  Sir  R. 
Maitland,  of  Lethington,  knight,  of  London,  1786,  2  vols.  i2mo. 
The  two  first  lines  are  here  corrected  by  that  edition. 

(Ji)  Garden.  (/)  Hedged.  (/(')  Bough. 


392     ALLITERATIVE    METRE    IN 

methods  of  alluring  and  governing  the  other  sex ;  it 
is  a  severe  and  humorous  satire  on  bad  women,  and 
nothing  inferior  to  Chaucer's  Prologue  to  his  Wife  of 
BatJis  Tale,  As  Dunbar  lived  till  about  the  middle  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  this  poem  was  probably  com- 
posed after  Scottish  /^?>/<2^ (described  above  in  p.  384), 
which  is  the  latest  specimen  I  have  met  with  written  in 
England.  This  poem  contains  about  five  hundred 
lines. 

But  the  current  use  of  the  alliterative  metre  in 
Scotland,  appears  more  particularly  from  those  po- 
pular vulgar  prophecies,  which  are  still  printed  for 
the  use  of  the  lower  people  in  Scotland,  under  the 
names  of  Thomas  the  Rymer,  Marvellous  Merling, 
&c.  This  collection  seems  to  have  been  put  together 
after  the  accession  of  James  I.  to  the  crown  of  Eng- 
land, and  most  of  the  pieces  in  it  are  in  the  metre  of 
Pierce  Plowman  s  Visions.  The  first  ol  them  begins 
thus : 

**  Merling  sayes  in  his  book,  who  will  i?ead  ^ight, 
Although  his  6'ayings  be  uncouth,  they  6"hall  be  true  found. 
In  the  seventh  chapter,  read  ^Fhoso  ^Fill, 
One  thousand  and  more  after  Christ's  birth,  &c." 

And  the  prophesie  of  Beid  : 

"  Betwixt  the  chief  of  Summer  and  the  ^Sad  winter  ; 
Before  the  iTeat  of  summer  iTappen  shall  a  war 
That  -Surop's  lands  j5"arnestly  shall  be  wrought 
And  jCarnest  jS'nvy  shall  last  but  a  while,  &c." 

So  again  the  prophesie  of  Berlington  ; 

"  When  the  Ruby  is  /Raised,  JRtst  is  there  none, 

But  much  i^ancour  shall  7?ise  in  j^iver  and  plain 

Much  ^Sorrow  is  .Seen  through  a  6'uth-hound 

That  beares  //ornes  in  his  //ead  like  a  wyld  ZTart,  &c.** 


In  like  metre  is  the  prophesie  of  Waldhave : 


PIERCE    PLOWMAN'S    VISIONS.     393 

"  Upon  Zowdon  Zaw  alone  as  I  Zay, 
Zooking  to  the  Zennox,  as  me  Zief  thought, 
The  first  iJ/brning  of  J/ay,  J/edicine  to  seek 
For  J/aHce  and  J/elody  that  J/oved  me  sore,  &c." 

And  lastly,  that  intitled  the  prophesle  of  Gildas  : 

*'  When  holy  kirk  is  J^racked  and  WiW  has  no  Wit 
And  Zkstors  are  Z*luckt,  and  Z'il'd  without  Z*ity 
When  Zdolatry  Zs  Zn  ens  and  I'e 
And  spiritual  pastours  are  vexed  away,  &c." 

It  will  be  observed  in  the  foregoing-  specimens, 
that  the  alliteration  is  extremely  neglected,  except  in 
the  third  and  fourth  instances ;  although  all  the  rest 
are  written  in  imitation  of  the  cadence  used  in  this 
kind  of  metre.  It  may  perhaps  appear  from  an  at- 
tentive perusal,  that  the  poems  ascribed  to  Berling- 
ton  and  Waldhave  are  more  ancient  than  the  others : 
indeed  the  first  and  fifth  appear  evidently  to  have 
been  new  modelled,  if  not  intirely  composed  about 
the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  and  are  probably 
the  latest  attempts  ever  made  in  this  species  of  verse. 

In  this  and  the  foregoing  essay  are  mentioned  all 
the  specimens  I  have  met  with  of  the  alliterative 
metre  without  rhyme  :  but  instances  occur  some- 
times in  old  manuscripts,  of  poems  written  both  with 
final  rhymes  and  the  infernal  cadence  and  allitera- 
tions of  the  metre  of  Pierce  Plowman. 

This  Essay  will  receive  illustration  from  another 
specimen  in  Warton's  History  of  English  Poetry^ 
vol.  i.  p.  309,  being  the  fragment  of  a  MS.  poem  on 
the  subject  oi  Alexander  the  Great,  in  the  Bodleian 
Library,  which  he  supposes  to  be  the  same  with  No. 
44  in  the  Ashmol.  MSS.  containing  twenty-seven 
passus^  and  beginning  thus : 

**  Whener  folk  fastid  [feasted,  qu?^  and  fed, 

fayne  wolde  thei  her  [/.  e.  hear] 
Some  farand  thing,  &c." 


394       ALLITERATIVE    METRE. 

It  IS  well  observed  by  Mr.  Tyrwhitt  on  Chaucer's 
sneer  at  this  old  alliterative  metre  (vol.  iii.  p.  305), 
viz. : 

I  am  a  Sotheme  [/.  e.  Southern]  man, 


I  cannot  geste,  rom,  ram,  raf,  by  my  letter," 

that  the  fondness  for  this  species  of  versification,  &c. 
was  retained  longest  in  the  northern  provinces :  and 
that  the  author  of  Pierce  Plowman  s  Visions  is  in  the 
best  MSS.  called  William^  without  any  surname. 
See  vol.  iv.  p.  74. 

[The  Rev.  Walter  W.  Skeat,  editor  of  Fters  Plowman,  for  the 
Early  English  Text  Society,  has  written  An  Essay  on  Alliterative 
Poetry,  for  Hales  and  Furnivall's  edition  of  the  Percy  foHo  MS., 
which  will  be  found  in  the  third  volume  of  that  work  (pp.  xi.-xxxix.). 
He  gives  a  Hst  of  all  the  poems  he  has  met  with  that  have  been 
written  as  alliterative,  yet  without  rhyme,  since  the  Conquest,  and 
ends  his  essay  with  the  following  note : — *'  The  reader  must  be 
warned  against  three  extraordinary  mis-statements  in  this  (Percy's) 
essay,  following  close  upon  one  another  near  the  end  of  it.  These 
are  (i)that  Robert  of  Gloucester  wrote  in  anapaestic  verse,  whereas 
he  wrote  in  the  long  Alexandrine  verse,  containing  (when  perfect) 
six  Returns ;  (2)  that  the  French  alone  have  retained  this  old 
Gothic  metre  [the  twelve-syllabled  Alexandrine]  for  their  serious 
poems,  whereas  we  may  be  sure  that  Michael  Drayton,  the  author 
of  the  Polyolbion,  meant  his  poem  seriously;  and  (3)  that  the 
cadence  of  Piers  Plowman  *  so  exactly  resembles  the  French 
Alexandrine,  that  I  believe  no  peculiarities  of  their  versification 
can  be  produced  which  cannot  be  exactly  matched  in  the  alli- 
terative metre.'  This  is  indeed  a  curious  craze,  for  the  alliterative 
metre  is  founded  on  Dominants,  the  Alexandrine  on  Petu?'ns. 
Percy  gives  some  examples,  and  the  metre  which  he  selects  for 
numbering  is  the  French  one,  as  the  reader  may  easily  judge  for 
himself  when  he  finds  that  the  line 

**Le  succes  fiit  toiijours        |         iin  enfant  de  Taudace*' 

is  marked  by  him  as  it  is  marked  here,  and  is  supposed  to  consist 
oi  four  Anapcests  I  Yet  one  more  blunder  to  be  laid  at  the  door 
of  the  '  Anapaests  ! '  Would  that  we  were  well  rid  of  them,  and 
that  the  ^  longs  '  and  '  shorts '  were  buried  beside  them."] 


INDEX    OF    BALLADS    AND    POEMS    IN 
THE   SECOND   VOLUME. 


^GINCOURT,  For  the  Victory  at,  29. 
Aldingar  (Sir),  54. 
Althea  (To)  from  Prison,  321. 
Argentile  and  Curan,  252. 
As  ye  came  from  the  Holy  Land,  10 1, 

Baffled  Knight,  or  Lady's  Policy,  336. 
Barton  (Sir  Andrew),  188. 
Beggar's  Daughter  of  BednaJl  Green,  171, 
Bothwell's  (Lady  Anne)  Lament,  209. 
Braes  of  Yarrow,  362. 

Charing  Cross,  Downfall  of,  323. 
Charles  L,  Verses  by,  329. 
Chaucer,  Original  Ballad  by,  1 4. 
Complaint  of  Conscience,  279. 
Corin's  Fate,  262. 
Corydon's  Doleful  Knell,  274. 
Cromwell  (Thomas  Lord),  71. 
Cupid's  Assault,  by  Lord  Vaux,  50, 

Dawson  (Jemmy),  371. 
Distracted  Lover,  355. 
Distracted  Puritan,  347. 

Edward  I.,  On  the  Death  of,  10. 

Edward  IV.  and  Tanner  of  Tamworth,  92. 

Eleanor's  (Q.)  Confession,  164. 

Elizabeth's  (Q.)  Verses  while  Prisoner  at  Woodstock,  137. 

• Sonnet,  218. 


396  INDEX. 

Fair  Rosamond,  154. 
Fancy  and  Desire,  185. 
Frantic  Lady,  357. 

Gaberlunyie  Man,  67. 

Gascoigne's  Praise  of  the  Fair  Bridges,  afterwards  Lady  Sandes,  150 

Gentle  Herdsman,  tell  to  me,  86. 

Hardyknute,  105. 
Harpalus,  75. 
Heir  of  Linne,  138. 
Hosier's  (Admiral)  Ghost,  367. 

James  L,  Verses  by,  300. 

Jane  Shore,  263. 

John  Anderson,  my  Jo,  131. 

John  (King)  and  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury,  303. 

King  of  Scots  and  Andrew  Browne,  221. 

Lady  distracted  with  Love,  354. 

LilH  Burlero,  358. 

Little  John  Nobody,  133. 

Loyalty  Confined,  326. 

Lunatic  Lover,  351. 

Luther,  the  Pope,  a  Cardinal,  and  a  Husbandman,  125. 

Lye  (The),  by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  297. 

Mary  Ambree,  231. 

Murder  of  the  King  of  Scots,  213. 

Murray,  Bonny  Earl  of,  226. 

Not-Browne  Maid,  31. 

Old  Tom  of  Bedlam,  344. 
Old  and  Young  Courtier,  314. 

Plain  Truth  and  Blind  Ignorance,  'l^^. 

Richard  of  Almaigne,  3. 
Rivers  (Earl),  Balet  by,  48. 
Robin  and  Makyne,  79. 

Sale  of  Rebellious  Houshold  Stuff,  332. 
Spanish  Lady's  Love,  247. 


INDEX.  397 


Sturdy  Rock,  169. 

Suckling's  (Sir  John)  Campaigne,  318. 

Turnament  of  Tottenham,  17. 

Victorious  Men  of  Earth,  24?. 

Wandering  Jew,  291. 
Why  so  Pale,  343. 
Willoughbey,  Brave  Lord,  238, 
Winning  of  Cales,  243. 

You  meaner  Beauties,  312, 
Young  Waters,  228. 


END    OF    VOLUME    THE    SECOND* 


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